!MAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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-     6" 


2.0 


114.  IIIIM.6 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


2S  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  e72-'*503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


1 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


1981 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


'''he  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
originti!  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I    Covers  damaged/ 

I    Coi 


)uverture  endommagee 


nCoveis  re 
Couvertu 


D 


D 


restored  and/or  laminated/ 
re  restaur^e  et/ou  pellicul6e 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


□    Coloured  maps/ 
Carte: 


Cartes  g^ographiquss  en  couleur 


□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

I      I    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 


n 


Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  matorial/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 


Tight  binding  mav  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'orr.bre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int<irieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajojt^es 
lors  dune  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte. 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
jas  6t6  filmdes. 

Additional  comments/ 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires; 


L'institut  a  microfi;m6  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
uno  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  pouvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 


[      I    Coloured  pages/ 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

Pages  restored  and/oi 

Pages  restaurv^es  et/ou  pellicul6es 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  fofie< 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachetdes  ou  piqu^es 


I      I    Pages  damaged/ 

I      I    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

I     1.  Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foned/ 


□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d^tachees 


TX  Showthrough/ 
—I    Transparence 


□    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Quality  in^gale  de  I'impression 

□    Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 

I      ]    Only  edition  available/ 


D 


Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partieilement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure. 
etc.,  ont  6t6  film6es  d  nouveau  de  facon  i 
obienir  la  meilleure  Image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film§  au  taiix  de  reduction  indiqu^  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


y 


12X 


16X 


20X 


26X 


30X 


24X 


28X 


n 


32X 


ni 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  film^  fut  reproduit  gr§ce  d  la 
g^n^rositd  de: 

Bibliothdque  nationf?le  du  Canada 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  Irst  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — »-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  cornet,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet^  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  filmds  en  commen9ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  J'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exempNires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commengant  pai  ta 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  unt  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  chaque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  -^^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "F!N  ". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  6tre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  r6ductio:i  different:.. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  film6  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivatits 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

mmw^m:^^:.mmMLm^Ml 


-f-  ■"•;*•-. 


BESIDE  THE  BONNIE  BRIER  BUSH 


1 


B«Hi(<iaiwin»B';'i300i  ^».  ■iBii')te,:HA»«i}^  |i;i;ff{)ig  im-,ff' 


'liimSBM  tn,  ifr 


Beside  the  Bonnie  Brier  Bush 

By  Ian    Maclaren 


James  Bain  &  Son, 

BOOKSELLERS  *o. 
TORONTO, 


/ 


xNEVV  YORK 
DODD,    MEAD    AND    COMPANY 

TORONTO 

FLEMING   II.  RF.VELL  COMPANY 

140-142  YoNCK  St. 


wip'^^-nmm^?«v:mj*m:mxmki£vEmjaLMM 


3  ^ 


172558 


Copyright,  1894,  "v 

DODD,  MEAD,  AND  COMPANY, 

All  rights  rmnived. 


^iiMEiiZjaLm 


TO    MY   WIFE 


■.v.i}.mi-  w^mm^ 


:m2M. 


'  There  grows  a  bonnie  brier  bush  in  our  kail-yard 
And  white  are  the  blossoms  on'l  in  our  kail-yard.' 


mi*x.mmw 


CONTENTS 

I.  DOMSIE.  '**■ 

I.  A  Lad  o*  Pairts,  ...,,.  3 

a.    How    WB    CARRIED   THR    NEWS   TO   WuiNNIB 

Knowe, 19 

3.  In  Marget's  Garden,  .       •       ,       ,       ,  28 

4.  A  Scholar's  Funeral,         •       •       •       •  40 

II.  A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

1.  What  Eye  hath  not  seen,        •       •       •  57 

2.  Against  Principalities  and  Powers,        •  70 

in.  HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON,         ....  85 

IV.  THE    TRANSFORMATION     OF     LACHLAN 
CAMPBELL. 

I.  A  Grand  Inquisitor, 103 

a.  His  Bitter  Shame,       .       •       •       •       •  121 

3.  LiKB  as  a  Father,       .       •       •       •       •  140 

4.  As  A  Little  Child,      •       •       •       •       ,  156 

vU 


VMJtliU;m:u4iili    -  .i:«'»i=3a---f  •jm.^M.-fi'i 


^'"  CONTENTS 

V.  THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTV. 

VI.  A  WISE  WOMAN. 

«.  Our  Sermon  Taster,   . 

a.  The  Collapsb  ok  Mrs.  Macfadyen,  . 

VII.  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

1.  A  General  Practitioner,  . 

2.  Through  the  Flood,  . 
3'  A  Fight  with  Death, 

4.  The  Doctor's  last  Journpy,      , 

5.  Tllli   MoUKNINU   OK  TJIK   (JLEN, 


rAGB 

*7S 


197 
aia 


229 
248 
267 
286 

305 


D  O  M  S  I  E 


I 

A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS 

The  Revolution  reached  our  parish  years  ago, 
and  Drumtochty  has   a  School   Board,  with  1 
chairman  and  a  clerk,  besides  a  treasurer  and  an 
officer.     Young  Hillocks,  who  had  two  years  in  a 
lawyer's  office,  is  clerk,  and  summons  meetings  by 
post,  although  he  sees  every  member  at  the  market 
or  the  kirk.     Minutes  are  read  with  much  solem- 
nity,  and  motions  to  expend  ten  shillings  upon  a 
coal-cellar  door  passed,  on  the  motion  of  Hillocks, 
seconded  by  Drumsheugh,  who  are  both  severely 
prompted   for  the  occasion,  and  move  uneasily 
before  speaking. 

Drumsheugh  was  at  first  greatly  exalted  by 
his  poll,  and  referred  freely  on  market  days  to 
his  "plumpers,"  but  as  time  went  on  the  irony  of 
the  situation  laid  hold  upon  him. 


i'l 


m  ^■':^^mmMmm^^ft^mmmmmmm^m>m^ 


DOMSIE 


^ 


"  Think  o'  you  and  me,  Hillocks,  vccsitin'  the 
schule  and  sittin'  wi'  bukes  in  oor  hands  watchin' 
the  Inspector.  Keep's  a',  its  eneuch  to  mak'  the 
auld  Dominie  turn  in  his  grave.  Twa  meenisters 
cam*  in  his  time,  and  Domsie  put  Geordie  Hoo 
or  some  ither  gleg  laddie,  that  was  makin*  for 
college,  thro'  his  facin's,  and  maybe  some  bit 
lassie  brocht  her  copy-buke.  Syne  they  had  their 
dinner,  and  Domsie  tae,  wi'  the  Doctor.  Man, 
a've  often  thocht  it  was  the  prospeck  o'  the 
Schule  Board  and  its  weary  bit  rules  that  feenished 
Domsie.  He  wasna  maybe  sae  shairp  at  the 
elements  as  this  pirjinct  body  we  hae  noo,  but 
a'body  kent  he  was  a  terrible  scholar  and  a  credit 
tae  the  parish.  Drumtochty  was  a  name  in  thae 
days  wi'  the  lads  he  sent  tae  college.  It  was 
maybe  juist  as  weel  he  slippit  awa*  when  he  did, 
for  he  wud  hae  taon  ill  with  thae  new  fikes,  and 
nae  college  lad  to  warm  his  hert." 

The  present  school-house  stands  in  an  open 
place  beside  the  main  road  to  Muirtown,  treeless 
and  comfortless,  built  of  red,  staring  stone,  with 
a  playground  for  the  boys  and  another  for  the 
girls,  and  a  trim,  smug-looking  teacher's  house, 


i 


i 


m'^-m'-^- 


A  LAD  O*  PAIRTS 


ail  very  neat  and  symmetrical,  and  well  regu- 
lated. The  local  paper  had  a  paragraph  headed 
"  Drumtochty,"  written  by  the  Muirtown  architect, 
describing  the  whole  premises  in  technical  language 
that  seemed  to  compensate  the  ratepayers  for  the 
cost,  mentioning  the  contractor's  name,  and 
concluding  that  "  this  handsome  building  of  the 
Scoto-Grecian  style  was  one  of  the  finest  works 
that  had  ever  come  from  the  accomplished 
architect's  hands."  It  has  pitch-pine  benches 
and  map-cases,  and  a  thermometer  to  be  kept  at 
not  less  than  58*  and  not  more  than  62",  and 
ventilators  which  the  Inspector  is  careful  to 
examine.  When  I  stumbled  in  last  week  the 
teacher  was  drilling  the  children  in  Tonic  Sol-fa 
with  a  little  harmonium,  and  I  left  on  tiptoe. 

It  is  difficult  to  live  up  to  this  kind  of  thing, 
and  my  thoughts  drift  to  the  auld  schule-house 
and  Domsie.  Some  one  with  the  love  of  God  in 
his  heart  had  built  it  long  ago,  and  chose  a  site 
for  the  bairns  in  the  sweet  pine-woods  at  the 
foot  of  the  cart  road  to  Whinnie  Knowe  and  the 
upland  farms.  It  stood  in  a  clearing  with  the 
tall   Scotch   firs  round  three  sides,  and   on   the 


8^ 


««i*M^M>'a**«« 


i^mm::^mmm^^mfi^^^miim:^mm 


DOMSIE 


fourth  a  brake  of  gorse  and  bramble  bushes, 
through  which  there  was  an  opening  to  the  road. 
The  clearing  was  the  playground,  and  in  summer 
the  bairns  annexed  as  much  wood  as  they  liked, 
playing  tig  among  the  trees,  or  sitting  down  at 
dinner-time  on  the  soft,  dry  spines  that  made  an 
elastic  carpet  everywhere.  Domsie  used  to  say 
there  were  two  pleasant  sights  for  his  old  eyes 
every  day.  One  was  to  stand  in  the  open  at 
dinner-time  and  see  the  flitting  forms  of  the 
healthy,  rosy  sonsie  bairns  in  the  wood,  and  from, 
the  door  in  the  afternoon  to  watch  the  schule 
skail,  till  each  group  was  lost  in  the  kindly 
shadow,  and  the  merry  shouts  died  away  in  this 
quiet  place.  Then  the  Dominie  took  a  pinch  of 
snuff  and  locked  the  door,  and  went  to  his  house 
beside  the  school.  One  evening  I  came  on  him 
listening  bare-headed  to  the  voices,  and  he  showed 
so  kindly  that  I  shall  take  him  as  he  stands.  A 
man  of  middle  height,  but  stooping  below  it,  with 
sandy  hair  turning  to  grey,  and  bushy  eye-brow 
covering  keen,  shrewd  grey  eyes.  You  will  notice 
that  his  linen  is  coarse  but  spotless,  and  that, 
though  his  clothes  are  worn  almost  threadbare, 


( rfwmv 'i!«;  ,^  • 


A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS 


they  are  well  brushed  and  orderly.  But  you  will 
be  chiefly  arrested  by  the  Dominie's  coat,  for  the 
like  of  it  was  not  in  the  parish.  It  was  a  black 
dress  coat,  and  no  man  knew  when  it  had  begun 
its  history  ;  in  its  origin  and  its  continuance  it 
resembled  Mclchisedek.  Many  were  the  myths 
that  gathered  round  that  coat,  but  on  this  all  were 
agreed,  that  without  it  we  could  not  have  realised 
the  Dominie,  and  it  became  to  us  the  sign  and 
trappings  of  learning.  He  had  taken  a  high  place 
at  the  University,  and  won  a  good  degree,  and 
I've  heard  the  Doctor  say  that  he  had  a  career 
before  him.  But  something  happened  in  his  life, 
and  Domsie  buried  himself  among  the  woods 
with  the  bairns  of  Drumtochty.  No  one  knew 
the  story,  but  after  he  died  I  found  a  locket  on 
his  breast,  with  a  proud,  beautiful  face  within,  and 
I  have  fancied  it  was  a  tragedy.  It  may  have 
been  in  substitution  that  he  gave  all  his  love  to 
the  children,  and  nearly  all  his  money  too,  helping 
lads  to  college,  and  affording  ati  inexhaustible 
store  of  peppermints  for  the  little  ones. 

Perhaps  one  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  of  that 
school-house,  but  yet  it  had  its  own  distinction,  for 


l\ 


8 


DOMSIE 


scholars  were  born  there,  and  now  and  then  to 
this  day  some  famous  man  will  come  and  stand  in 
the  deserted  playground  for  a  space.  The  door 
was  at  one  end,  and  stood  open  in  summer,  so 
that  the  boys  saw  the  rabbits  come  out  from  their 
holes  on  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  birds  some- 
times flew  in  unheeded.  The  fireplace  was  at  the 
other  end,  and  was  fed  in  winter  with  the  sticks 
and  peats  brought  by  the  scholars.  On  one  side 
Domsie  sat  with  the  half-dozen  lads  he  hoped  to 
send  to  college,  to  whom  he  grudged  no  labour, 
and  on  the  other  gathered  the  very  little  ones, 
who  used  to  warm  their  bare  feet  at  the  fire,  while 
down  the  sides  of  the  room  the  other  scholars  sat 
at  their  rough  old  desks,  working  sums  and 
copying.  Now  and  then  a  class  came  up  and  did 
some  task,  and  at  times  a  boy  got  the  tawse  for 
his  negligence,  but  never  a  girl.  He  kept  the 
girls  in  as  their  punishment,  with  a  brother  to 
take  them  home,  and  both  had  tea  in  Domsie's 
house,  with  a  bit  of  his  best  honey,  departing 
much  torn  between  an  honest  wish  to  please 
Domsie  and  a  pardonable  longing  for  another 
tea. 


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A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS  9 

"  Domsie,"  as  we  called  the  schoolmaster,  behind 
his  back  in  Drumtochty,  because  we  loved  him, 
was  true  to  the  tradition  of  his  kind,  and  had  an 
unerring  scent  for  "pairts"  in  his  laddies.     He 
could  detect  a  scholar  in  the  egg,  and  prophesied 
Latinity  from  a  boy  that  seemed  fit  only  to  be  a 
cowherd.     It  was  believed  that  he  had  never  made 
a  mistake  in  judgment,  and  it  was  not  his  blame 
if  the   embryo   scholar  did   not   come  to   birth. 
"  Five  and  thirty  years  have  I  been  minister  at 
Drumtochty,"  the  Doctor  used  to  say  at  school 
examinations,    "and   we    have    never  wanted   a 
student   at  the   University,  and   while  Dominie 
Jamieson    lives    we    never    shall."      Whereupon 
Domsie  took  snuff,  and   assigned   his  share  of 
credit  to   the   Doctor,  "  who  gave  the   finish  in 
Greek  to  every  lad  of  them,  without  money  and 
without  price,  to  make  no  mention  of  the  higher 
mathematics."       Seven    ministers,    four    school- 
masters, four  doctors,  one  professor,  and   three 
civil   service   men    had    been    sent   out    by    the 
auld    schule    in    Domsie's    time,  besides    many 
that  "had  given  themselves  to   mercantile  pur- 
suits." 


t     I, 

i  r 


lO 


DOMSIE 


He  had  a  leaning  to  classics  and  the  professions, 
but  Domsie  was  catholic  in  his  recognition  of 
"pairts,"  and  when  the  son  of  Hillocks'  foreman 
made  a  collection  of  the  insects  of  Drumtochty, 
there  was  a  council  at  the  manse.  "  Bumbee 
Willie,"  as  he  had  been  pleasantly  called  by 
his  companions,  was  rescued  from  ridicule  and 
encouraged  to  fulfil  his  bent.  Once  a  year  a 
long  letter  came  to  Mr.  Patrick  Jamieson,  M.A., 
Schoolmaster,  Drumtochty,  N.B.,  and  the  address 
within  was  the  British  Museum.  When  Domsie 
read  this  letter  to  the  school,  he  was  always 
careful  to  explain  that  "  Dr.  Graham  is  the 
greatest  living  authority  on  beetles,"  and,  generally 
speaking,  if  any  clever  lad  did  not  care  for 
Latin,  he  had  the  alternative  of  beetles. 

But  it  was  Latin  Domsie  hunted  for  as  for  fine 
gold,  and  when  he  found  the  smack  of  it  in  a  lad 
he  rejoiced  openly.  He  counted  it  a  day  in  his 
life  when  he  knew  certainly  that  he  had  hit  on 
another  scholar,  and  the  whole  school  saw  the 
identification  of  George  Howe.  For  a  winter 
Domsie  had  been  "at  point,"  racing  George 
through   Caesar,   stalking    him    behind   irregular 


1 


S 


A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS 


TI 


verbs,  baiting  traps  with  tit-bits  of  Virgil.  During 
these  exercises  Domsie  surveyed  George  from 
above  his  spectacles  with  a  hope  that  grew  every 
day  in  assurance,  and  came  to  its  height  over  a 
bit  of  Latin  prose.  Domsie  tasted  it  visibly,  and 
read  it  again  in  the  shadow  of  the  firs  at  meal- 
time, slapping  his  leg  twice. 

"He'll  dae!  he'll  dae!"  cried  Domsie  aloud, 
ladling  in  the  snuff.  "George,  ma  mannie,  tell 
yir  father  that  I  am  comin'  up  to  Whinnie  Knowe 
the  nicht  on  a  bit  o'  business." 

Then  the  "  schule  "  knew  that  Geordie  Hoo  was 
marked  for  college,  and  pelted  him  with  fir  cones 
in  great  gladness  of  heart. 

"Whinnie"  was  full  of  curiosity  over  the 
Dominie's  visit,  and  vexed  Marget  sorely,  to 
whom  Geordie  had  told  wondrous  things  in  the 
milk-house.  "  It  canna  be  coals  'at  he's  wantin' 
frae  the  station,  for  there's  a  fell  puckle  left." 

"And  it'll  no  be  seed  taties,"  she  said,  pur- 
suing the  principle  of  exhaustion,  "  for  he  hes 
some  Perthshire  reds  himsel'.  I  doot  it's  some- 
thin'  wrang  with  Geordie,"  and  Whinnie  started 
on  a  new  track. 


t  ^i» 


13 


DOMSIE 


i      ( 


"  He's  been  playin'  truant  maybe.  A'  mind 
gettin*  ma  paiks  for  birdnestin*  masel.  I'll  wager 
that's  the  verra  thing." 

*'  Weel,  yir  wrang,  Weelum,"  broke  in  Marget, 
Whinnie's  wife,  a  tall,  silent  woman,  with  a 
speaking  face ;  "  its  naither  the  ae  thing  nor 
the  ithcr,  but  something  I've  been  pray  in'  for 
since  Geordie  was  a  wee  bairn.  Clean  yirsel  and 
meet  Domsie  on  the  road,  for  nae  man  deserves 
more  honour  in  Drumtochty,  naither  laird  nor 
farmer." 

Conversation  with  us  was  a  leisurely  game, 
with  slow  movements  and  many  pauses,  and  it 
was  our  custom  to  handle  all  the  pawns  before 
we  brought  the  queen  into  action. 

Domsie  and  Whinnie  discussed  the  weather 
with  much  detail  before  they  came  in  sight  of 
George,  but  it  was  clear  that  Domsie  was  charged 
with  something  weighty,  and  even  Whinnie  felt 
that  his  own  treatment  of  the  turnip  crop  was 
wanting  in  repose. 

At  last  Domsie  cleared  his  throat  and  looked 
at  Marget,  who  had  been  in  and  out,  but  ever 
within  hearing. 


i  1 : 1 


•m;r;'t'^^"%i?Btf 


A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS 


«3 


"George  is  a  fine  laddie,  Mrs.  Howe." 

An  ordinary  Drumtochty  mother,  although 
bursting  with  pride,  would  have  responded,  "  lie's 
weel  eneuch,  if  he  hcd  grace  in  his  heart,"  in  a 
tone  that  implied  it  was  extremely  unlikely,  and 
that  her  laddie  led  the  reprobates  of  the  parish. 
As  it  was,  Marget's  face  lightened,  and  she  waited. 

"What  do  you  think  of  making  him?"  and 
the  Dominie  dropped  the  words  slowly,  for  this 
was  a  moment  in  Drumtochty. 

There  was  just  a  single  ambition  in  those  humble 
homes,  to  have  one  of  its  members  at  college, 
and  if  Domsie  approved  a  lad,  then  his  brothers 
and  sisters  would  give  their  wages,  and  the  family 
would  live  on  skim  milk  and  oat  cake,  to  let  him 
have  his  chance. 

Whinnie  glanced  at  his  wife  and  turned  to 
Domsie. 

"Marget's  set  on  seein'  Geordie  a  minister, 
Dominie." 

"If  he's  worthy  o't,  no  otherwise.  We  haena 
the  means  though;  the  farm  is  highly  rented, 
and  there's  barely  a  penny  over  at  the  end  o'  the 
year." 


1 1 ,' 


fi, 


m 


vf! 


14 


DOMSIR 


;r 


i' 


, 


"  But  you  are  willing  Georfrc  should  go  and 
see  what  he  can  do.  If  he  disappoint  you,  then 
I  dinna  know  a  lad  o'  pairts  when  I  see  him, 
and  the  Doctor  is  with  me." 

"  Maister  Jamieson,"  said  Marget,  with  great 
solemnity,  "  ma  hert's  desire  is  to  see  George  a 
minister,  and  if  the  Almichty  spared  me  to  hear 
ma  only  bairn  open  his  mooth  in  the  Evangel, 
I  wud  hae  naething  mair  to  ask  .  .  .  but  I  doot 
sair  it  canna  be  managed." 

DomGie  had  got  all  he  asked,  and  he  rose  in 
his  strength. 

"If  George  Howe  disna  get  to  college,  then 
he's  the  first  scholar  I've  lost  in  Drumtochty  .  .  . 
ye  'ill  manage  his  keep  and  sic  like  ?  " 

"  Nae  fear  o'  that,"  for  Whinnie  was  warming, 
"  tho'  I  hacna  a  steek  (stitch)  o'  new  claithes  for 
four  years.  But  what  aboot  his  fees  and  ither 
ootgaeins  ?  " 

"  There's  ae  man  in  the  parish  can  pay  George's 
fees  without  missing  a  penny,  and  I'll  warrant 
he  'ill  dae  it." 

**  Are  ye  meaiiin'  Drumsheugh  ?  "  said  Whinnie, 
for  ye  'ill  never  get  a  penny  piece  oot  o'  him. 


[^YflS(^t*"n:»V<:' 


1 


A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS 


IS 


Did  ye  no  hear  hoo  the  Frees  wiled  him  intae 
their  kirk,  Sabbath  past  a  week,  when  Nethcrton's 
sister's  son  frae  Kdinboro'  wes  preaching  the 
missionary  sermon,  expcctin*  a  note,  and  if  he 
didna  change  a  shillin'  at  the  public-hoose 
and  pit  in  a  penny.  Sail,  he's  a  lad  Drum- 
sheugh ;  a'm  thinking  ye  may  save  yir  journey, 
Dominie." 

But  Marget  looked  away  from  her  into  the 
past,  and  her  eyes  had  a  tender  light.  "  He  hed 
the  hp.st  hert  in  the  pairish  aince." 

Domsic  found  Drumshcugh  inclined  for  com- 
pany, and  assisted  at  an  exhaustive  and  caustic 
treatment  of  local  affairs.  When  the  conduct 
of  Piggie  Walker,  who  bought  Drumsheugh's 
potatoes  and  went  into  bankruptcy  without  pay- 
ing for  a  single  tuber,  had  been  chanu  terized 
in  language  that  left  nothing  to  be  desired, 
Drumsheugh  began  to  soften  and  show  signs  of 
reciprocity. 

*'  Hoo's  yir  laddies,  Dominie  ? "  whom  the 
farmers  regarded  as  a  risky  turnip  crop  in  a  stiff 
clay  that  Domsie  had  "  to  fecht  awa  in."  "  Are 
ony  o' them  shaping  weel?" 


1 


''  \ 


1} 


i6 


DOMSIE 


fi:! 


Drumshcugh  had  given  himself  away,  and 
Domsie  laid  his  first  parallel  with  a  glowing 
account  of  George  Howe's  Latinity,  which  was 
well  received. 

"Weel,  I'm  gled  tae  hear  sic  accoonts  o' 
Marget  Hoo's  son  ;  there's  naething  in  Whinnie 
but  what  the  spune  puts  in." 

But  at  the  next  move  Drumsheugh  scented 
danger  and  stood  at  guard.  "  Na,  na,  Dominie, 
I  see  what  yir  aifter  fine ;  ye  mind  hoo  ye  got 
three  notes  oot  o'  me  at  Perth  market  Martinmas 
a  year  past  for  ane  o'  yir  college  laddies.  Five 
punds  for  four  years ;  my  word,  yir  no  blate 
(modest).  And  what  for  sud  I  educat  Marget 
Hoo's  bairn  ?  If  ye  kent  a'  ye  wudna  ask  me  ; 
it's  no  reasonable,  Dominie.  So  there's  an  end 
o't." 

Domsie  was  only  a  pedantic  old  parish  school- 
master, and  he  knew  little  beyond  his  craft,  but  the 
spirit  of  the  Humanists  awoke  within  him,  and  he 
smote  with  all  his  might,  bidding  goodbye  to  his 
English  as  one  flings  away  the  scabbard  of  a  sword. 

"  Yc  think  that  a'm  asking  a  great  thing  when 
I  plead  for  a  pickle  notes  to  give  a  puir  laddie 


'I 

!!j 


1    . 


A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS 


17 


.a 


a  college  education.     I  tell  yc,  man,  a'm  honourin* 

ye  and  givin'  ye  the  fairest  chance  ye'U  ever  hae 

o'  winning  wealth.     Gin  ye  store  the  money  ye 

hae  scrapit  by  mony  a  hard  bargain,  some  heir 

ye  never  saw  'ill  gar  it  flee  in  chambering  and 

wantonness.      Gin    ye   hed    the    heart    to   spend 

it  on  a  lad  o'  pairts  like  Geordie  Hoo,  ye  wud 

hae   twa   rewards   nae   man   could   tak   frae   ye. 

Ane  wud   be   the   honest  gratitude   o'   a   laddie 

whose  desire  for  knowledge  ye  hed  sateestied,  and 

the  second  wud  be  this — anithcr  scholar  in  the 

land ;   and  a'm  thinking  with  auld  John   Knox 

that  ilka  scholar  is  something  added  to  the  riches 

of  the  commonwealth.     And  what  'ill  it  cost  ye  ? 

Little  mair  than  the  price  o'  a  cattle  beast     Man, 

Drumsheugh,    ye    poverty-stricken    cratur,    I've 

naethin'  in  this  world  but  a  handfu'  o'  books  and 

a  ten-pund   note   for  my  funeral,  and  yet,  if  it 

wasna  I  have  all  my  brither's  bairns  tae  keep,  I 

wud  pay  every  penny  myscl'.      But   I'll  no  see 

Geordie  sent  to  the  plough,  tho'  I  gang  frae  door 

to  door.     Na,  na,  the  grass  'ill  no  grow  on  the 

road  at  ween  the  college  and  the  schule-hoose  o' 

Drumtochty  till  they  lay  mc  in  the  auld  kirkyard." 

n 


\: 


.} 
4    !■( 


I 


ll 


»  13 


\'i 


i8 


DOMSIE 


r 


tr 


i\ 


1 1 


i 


,■1 


V-: 


"  Sail,  Domsie  was  roosed,"  Drumsheugh  ex- 
plained in  the  Muirtown  inn  next  market. 
*  *  Miserly  wratch '  was  the  ceevilest  word  on 
his  tongue.  He  wud  naither  ait  nor  taste,  and 
was  half  way  doon  the  yaird  afore  I  cud  quiet 
him.  An'  a'm  no  sayin'  he  hed  na  reason  if  I'd 
been  meanin'  a'  I  said.  It  wud  be  a  scan'al  to 
the  pairish  if  a  likely  lad  cudna  win  tae  college 
for  the  want  o'  siller.  Na,  na,  neeburs,  we  hae 
oor  faults,  but  we're  no  sae  dune  mean  as  that  in 
Drumtochty." 

As  it  was,  when  Domsie  did  depart  he  could 
only  grip  Drumsheugh's  hand,  and  say  Maecenas, 
and  was  so  intoxicated,  but  not  with  strong  drink, 
that  he  explained  to  Hillocks  on  the  way  home 
that  Drumsheugh  would  be  a  credit  to  Drum- 
tochty, and  that  his  Latin  style  reminded  him 
of  Cicero.  He  added  as  an  afterthought  that 
\v^hinnie  Knowe  had  promised  to  pay  Drum- 
sheugh's fees  for  four  years  at  the  University 
of  Edinburgh. 


:«  r.flWSV  H*-iS|^" 


II 

HOW  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEWS  TO 
WHINNIE  KNOWE 

Domsie  was  an  artist,  and  prepared  the  way  for 
George's  University  achievement  with  much  cun- 
ning. Once  every  Sabbath  in  the  kirk-yard,  where 
he  laid  down  the  law  beneath  an  old  elm  tree,  and 
twice  between  Sabbaths,  at  the  post-office  and  by 
the  wayside,  he  adjured  us  not  to  expect  beyond 
measure,  and  gave  us  reasons. 

"  Ye  see,  he  has  a  natu  ral  talent  for  learning, 
and  took  to  Latin  like  a  duck  to  water.  What 
could  be  done  in  Drumtochty  was  done  (o-  him, 
and  he's  working  night  and  day,  but  he'll  have  a 
sore  fight  with  the  lads  from  the  town  schools. 
Na,  na,  neighbours,"  said  the  Donn'nie,  lapsing 
into  dialect,  "  we  daurna  luik  for  a  prize.  No  the 
first  year,  at  ony  rate." 
"  Man,  Dominie.     A'm  clean  astonished  at  ye," 


■i'  1 


If! 


Si 


t     •    t- 


',  i 


nm 


h 

I  ;. 

^    '  ■ 

il 

Si' 

ft-: 


'II- 

i  < 
Ivi 


^f 


20 


DOMSIE 


\i     II 


F| 


I 


^1 


ii'i 
[1 


I 


I 


Drumsheugh  used  to  break  in,  who,  since  he  had 
given  to  George's  suppo.  t,  outran  us  all  in  his 
faith,  and  had  no  patience  w  ith  Domsie's  devices, 
"  a'  tell  ye  if  Geordie  disna  get  a  first  in  every 
class  he's  entered  for,  the  judges  'ill  be  a  puir  lot," 
with  a  fine  confusion  of  circumstances. 

"  Losh,  Drumsheugh,  be  quiet,  or  ye'll  dae  the 
laddie  an  injury,"  said  Domsie,  with  genuine  alarm. 
"We  maunna  mention  prizes,  and  first  is  fair  mad- 
ness. A  certificate  of  honour  now,  that  will  be 
aboot  it,  may  be  next  to  the  prizemen." 

Coming  home  from  market  he  might  open  his 
heart.  "  George  'ill  be  amang  the  first  sax,  or  my 
name  is  no  Jamieson,"  but  generally  he  prophesied 
a  moderate  success.  There  were  times  when  he 
affected  indifference,  and  tal'.wed  cattle.  We  then 
regarded  him  with  awe,  because  this  was  more 
than  mortal. 

It  was  my  luck  to  carry  the  bulletin  to  Domsie, 
and  I  learned  what  he  had  been  enduring.  It  was 
good  manners  in  Drumtochty  to  feign  amazement 
at  the  sight  of  a  letter,  and  to  insist  that  it  must 
be  intended  for  some  other  person.  When  it  was 
finally  forced  upon  one,  j'ou  examined  the  hand- 


^;\Mfip)ft:i  <,■»,!(' 


HOW  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEW  S 


21 


writing  at  various  angles  and  speculated  about  the 
writer.  Some  felt  emboldened,  after  these  pre- 
cautions, to  open  the  letter,  but  thi<  haste  was 
considered  indecent.  When  Posty  handed  Drum- 
sheugh  the  factor's  letter,  with  the  ^nswcr  to  his 
offer  for  the  farm,  he  only  remarked,  "  It'll  be 
frae  the  factor,"  and  harked  back  to  3  polled 
Angus  bull  he  had  seen  at  the  show.  "  Sail,"  said 
Posty  in  the  kirkyard  with  keen  relish,  "ye'll 
never  flurry  Drumsheugh."  Ordinary  letters  were 
read  in  leisurely  retirement,  and,  m  case  of 
urgency,  answered  within  the  week. 

Domsie  clutched  the  letter,  and  would  have 
torn  off  the  envelope.  But  he  could  not ;  his  hand 
was  shaking  like  an  aspen.  He  could  only  look, 
and  I  read : 

"Dear  Mr.  Jamieson,— The  class  honour 
lists  are  just  out,  and  you  will  be  pleased  to  know 
that  I  have  got  the  medal  both  in  the  Humanity 
and  the  Greek." 

There  was  something  about  telling  his  mother, 
and  his  gratitude  to  his  schoolmaster,  but  Domsie 
heard  no  more.  He  tried  to  speak  and  could  not, 
for  a  rain  of  tearj   was   on   his   hard  old  face. 


1  u 


it-/ 


n  i 


?.' 


i 


22 


DOMSIE 


;f 


I. 

n 

Hi 


t  i 


If 


Domsie  was  far  more  a  pagan  than  a  saint,  but 
somehow  he  seemed  to  me  that  day  as  Simeon, 
who  had  at  last  seen  his  heart's  desire,  and  was 
satisfied. 

When  the  school  had  dispersed  with  a  joyful 
shout,  and  disappeared  in  the  pine  woods,  he  said, 
"  Ye'll  come  too,"  and  I  knew  he  was  going  to 
Whinnie  Knowe.  He  did  not  speak  one  word 
upon  the  way,  but  twice  he  stood  and  read  the 
letter  which  he  held  fast  in  his  hand.  His  face 
was  set  as  he  climbed  the  cart  track.  I  saw  it  se. 
again  as  we  came  down  that  road  one  day,  but  it 
was  well  that  we  could  not  pierce  beyond  the 
present 

Whinnie  left  his  plough  in  the  furrow,  and  came 
to  meet  us,  taking   two   drills   at   a   stride,   and 
shouting  remarks  on  the  weather  yards  off. 
Domsic  only  lifted  the  letter.     "  Frae  George." 
*•  Ay,  ay,  and  what's  he  gotten  noo  ?  *' 
Domsie    solemnly    unfolded    the    letter,    and 
brought  down  his  spectacles.    "  Edinburgh,  April 
7th."     Then   he  looked  at  Whinnie,  and   closed 
his  mouth. 
"  We'll  tell  it  first  to  his  mither." 


«*(«.»■  •,:i^  ,•* 


HOW  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEWS  23 


"Yer  richt,  Dominfa.  She  weel  deserves  it. 
A'm  thinking  she's  seen  us  by  this  time."  So  we 
fell  into  a  procession,  Dominie  leaaing  by  two 
yards ;  and  then  a  strange  thing  happened.  For 
the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life  Domsie  whistled, 
and  the  tune  was  *'  A  hundred  pipers  and  a'  and 
a',"  and  as  he  whistled  he  seemed  to  dilate  before 
our  eyes,  and  he  struck  down  thistles  with  his 
stick — a  thistle  at  every  stroke. 

"  Domsie's  fair  carried,"  whispered  Whinnie,  "  it 
cowes  a'." 

Marget  met  us  at  the  end  of  the  house  beside 
the  brier  bush,  where  George  was  to  sit  on  summer 
afternoons  before  he  died,  and  a  flash  passed 
between  Domsie  and  the  lad's  mother.  Then  she 
knew  that  it  was  well,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
letter,  but  Whinnie,  his  thumbs  in  his  armholes, 
watched  the  wife. 

Domsie  now  essayed  to  read  the  news,  but 
between  the  shaking  of  his  hands  and  his  voice  he 
could  not. 

"It's  nae  use,"  he  cried,  "he's  first  in  the 
Humanity  oot  o'  a  hunderd  and  seeventy  lads, 
first  o'  them  a',  and  he's  first  in  the  Greek  too  ;  the 


I 


If 


Hi 


« 


8*'  \ 


!!f-    I 


«4 


DOMSIE 


like  o'  this  is  hardly  known,  and  it  has  na  been 
seen  in  Drumtochty  since  there  was  a  schule. 
That's  the  word  he's  sent,  and  he  bade  mc  tell  his 
mother  without  delay,  and  I  am  here  as  fast  as  my 
old  feet  could  carry  me." 

I  glanced  round,  although  I  did  not  myself  see 
very  clearly. 

Marget  was  silent  for  the  space  of  five  seconds  ; 
she  was  a  good  woman,  and  I  knew  that  better 
afterwards.  She  took  the  Dominie's  hand,  and 
said  to  him,  **  Under  God  this  was  your  doing, 
Maister  Jamiesor,  and  for  your  reward  ye'ill  get 
naither  silver  nor  gold,  but  ye  hae  a  mither's 
gratitude." 

Whinnie  gave  a  hoarse  chuckle  and  said  to  his 
wife,  "It  was  frae  you,  Marget,  he  got  it  a'." 

When  ve  settled  in  the  parlour  Domsie's  tongue 
was  loosed,  and  he  lifted  up  hi?  voice  and  sang 
the  victory  of  Geordie  Hoo. 

"  It's  ten  years  ago  at  the  brak  up  o'  the  winter 
ye  brought  him  down  to  me,  Mrs.  Hoo,  and  ye 
said  at  the  schule-hoose  door,  •  Dinna  be  hard  on 
him,  Maister  Jamieson,  he's  my  only  bairn,  and  a 
wee   thingie  quiet.'     Div  ye  mind   what   I   said, 


d 


i 

4. 


now  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEWS  ,5 

'  There's  something  ahint  that  face/  and  my  heart 
warmed  to  George  that  hour.     Two  years  after 
the  Doctor  examined  the  schule,  and  he  looks  at 
George.      '  That's  a  likely  lad,  Dominie.     What 
think  ye?'     And  he  was  only  eight  years  auld, 
and  no  big  for  his  size.     '  Doctor.  I  daurna  pro- 
phesy till  we  turn  him  into  the  Latin,  but  a've  my 
thoughts.'     So   I   had   a'  the  time,  but   I   never 
boasted,  na,  na,  that's  dangerous.     Didna  I  say, 
'  Ve  hev  a  promisin'  laddie,  Whinnie,'  ae  day  in 
the  market  ?  " 

"  It's  a  fac',"  said  Whinnie,  "  it  vves  the  day  I 
bocht  the  white  coo."     But  Domsie  swept  on. 

"  The  first  year  o'  Latin   was  enough  for  me. 
He  juist  nippct  up  his  verbs.     Caesar  could  na 
keep  him  going  ;  he  wes  into  Virgil  afore  he  wes 
eleven,  and  the  Latin  prose,  man.  as  sure  as  a'm 
living,  it  tasted  o'  Cicero  frae  the  beginning." 
Whinnie  wagged  his  head  in  amazement. 
"  It  was  the  verra  nicht  o'  the  Latin  prose  I 
cam  up  to  speak  aboot  the  college,  and  ye  thocht 
Geordie  hed  been  playing  truant." 

Whinnie     laughed    uproariously,    but    Domsie 
heeded  not 


'f  »!; 


'  1' 

1 

i6 


UOMSIE 


n  ;i 


i  i'l  i 


5 1 


"  It  was  awfu'  work  the  next  twa  years,  but  the 
Doctor  stood  in  wcel  wi'  the  Greek.  Ye  mind 
hoo  Geordie  tramped  ower  the  muir  to  the  manse 
thro'  the  weet  an'  the  snaw,  and  there  wes  aye 
dry  stockings  for  him  in  the  kitchen  afore  he  had 
his  Greek  in  the  Doctor's  study." 

"  And  a  warm  drink  tae,"  put  in  Marget,  "  and 
that's  the  window  I  pit  the  licht  in  to  guide  him 
hame  in  the  dark  winter  nichts,  and  mony  a  time 
when  the  sleet  played  swish  on  the  glass  I  wes 
near  wishin' "     Domsie  waved  his  hand. 

"  But  that's  dune  wi'  noo,  and  he  was  worth  a' 
the  toil  and  trouble.  First  in  the  Humanity  and 
first  in  the  Greek,  sweepit  the  field,  Lord  preserve 
us.  A'  can  hardly  believe  it.  Eh,  I  was  feared  o' 
thae  High  School  lads.  They  had  terrible  advan- 
tages. Maisters  frac  England,  and  tutors,  and 
whatna',  but  Drumtochty  carried  aff  the  croon. 
It'll  be  fine  reading  in  the  papers — 
Humanity.— ¥'nst    Prize    (and    Medal),    George 

Howe,  Drumtochty,  Perthshire. 
Greek. — Plrst  Prize  (and   Medal),  George  Howe, 
Drumtochty,  Perthshire." 

"  It'll  be  michty,"cried  Whinnie,  now  fairly  on  fire. 


1    I! 


HOW  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEWS  27 


"  And  Philosophy  and  Mathematics  to  come. 
Geordie's  no  bad  at  Euclid.  I'll  wager  he'll  be 
first  there  too.  When  he  gets  his  hand  in  there's 
naething  he's  no  fit  for  wi'  time.  My  ain  laddie 
— and  the  Doctor's — we  maunna  forget  him — it's 
his  classics  he  hes,  every  book  o'  them.  The 
Doctor  'ill  be  lifted  when  he  comes  back  on 
Saturday.  A'm  thinkin'  we'll  hear  o't  on  Sabbath. 
And  Drumsheugh,  he'll  be  naither  to  had  nor 
bind  in  the  kirk-yard.  As  for  me,  I  wad  na 
change  places  wi'  the  Duke  o'  Atholc,"  and 
Domsie  shook  the  table  to  its  foundation. 

Then  he  awoke,  as  from  a  dream,  and  the  shame 
of  boasting  that  shuts  the  mouths  of  self-recpect- 
ing  Scots  descended  upon  him. 

"  But  this  is  fair  nonsense.  Ye'll  no  mind  the 
havers  o'  an  auld  dominie." 

He  fell  back  on  a  recent  roup,  and  would  not 
again  break  away,  although  sorely  tempted  by 
certain  of  Whinnie's  speculations. 

When  I  saw  him  last,  his  coat-tails  were  waving 
victoriously  as  he  leaped  a  dyke  on  his  way  to  tell 
our  Drumtochty  Maecenas  that  the  judges  knew 
their  business. 


(I 


\    '  . 


y. 


M 


if! 

i 


III 

IN  MARGET'S  GARDEN 

The  cart  track  to  Whinnic  Knowe  was  com- 
manded by  a  gable  window,  and  Whinnic  boasted 
that  Marget  had  never  been  taken  unawares. 
Tramps,  finding  everv  door  locked,  and  no  sign 
of  life  anywhere,  used  to  express  their  mind  in 
the  "close,"  and  return  by  the  way  they  came, 
while  ladies  from  Kildrummie,  fearful  lest  they 
should  put  Mrs.  Howe  out,  were  met  at  the 
garden  gate  by  Marget  in  her  Sabbath  dress, 
anr  brought  in  to  a  set  tea  as  if  they  had  been 
invited  weeks  before. 

Whinnie  gloried  most  in  the  discomfiture  of 
the  Tory  agent,  who  had  vainly  hoped  to  coerce 
him  in  the  stack  yard  without  Marget's  presence, 
as  her  intellectual  contempt  for  the  Conservative 
party  knew  no  bounds. 


IN  MARGl-yrs  GARDEN  29 

"Sail  slic  saw  him  slip  aff  the  road  afore  the 
last  stile,  and  whccp  roond  the  fit  o*  the  guirdcn 
wa'  like  a  tod  (fox)  uiftcr  the  chickens. 

"'It's  a  hct  day,  Maistor  Anderson,'  says 
Mariict  frae  the  gairden,  lookin'  doon  on  him 
as  calm  as  ye  like.  '  Yir  surely  no  gaein'  to  pass 
oor  hoose  without  a  [jjess  o'  milk  ?' 

"  VVud  ye  believe  it,  he  wes  that  upset  he  left 
withoot  sayin'  '  vote,'  and  Drumshcugh  telt  me 
next  market  that  his  langidge  aifterwards  cudna 
be  printed." 

When   George  came  home  for  the   last   time, 
Marget  went  back  and  forward  all  afternoon  from' 
his   bedroom   to    the   window,   and    hid    herself 
beneath  the  laburnum  to  see  his  face  as  the  cart 
stood  before  the  stile.     It  told  her  plain  what  she 
had    feared,   and    Marget    passed    through    her 
Gethscmane  with  the   gold  blossoms  falling  on 
her  face.     When  their  eyes  met,  and  before  she 
helped    him     down,    mother     and     son     under- 
stood. 

"Ye  mind  what  I  told  ye,  o'  the  Greek 
mothers,  the  day  I  left.  Wcel,  I  wud  hae  liked 
to  have  carried   my  shield,  but  it  wasna  to  be, 


1 1 


30 


DOMSIE 


i' 


t 


if 


SO  I've  cotnc  \\o\\)c  on  it."  As  ihcy  went  slowly 
up  the  garden  walk,  "I've  got  my  degree,  a 
double  first,  mathematics  and  classics." 

"  Yc've  been  a  gudc  soldier,  George,  and 
niitlituV 

"  Unto  death,  a'm  dootin,  mother." 

"  Na,"  said  Marget,  "unto  life." 

Drumtochty  was  not  a  heartening  place  in 
sickness,  and  Maiget,  who  did  not  think  our 
thoughts,  enduretl  much  consolation  at  her  neigh- 
bour's hands.  It  is  said  that  in  cities  visitors 
congratulate  a  patient  on  his  good  looks,  and 
deluge  his  family  with  instances  of  recovery. 
This  would  have  seemed  to  us  shallow  and  un- 
feeling, besides  being  a  *'  temptin'  o'  IVovidence," 
which  might  not  have  intended  to  go  to  ex- 
tremities, but  on  a  challenge  of  this  kind  had 
no  alternative.  Sickness  was  regarded  as  a 
distinction  tempered  with  judgment,  and  favoured 
people  found  it  diflicult  to  be  humble.  I  always 
thought  mo.e  of  Peter  Macintosh  when  the 
mysterious    *'  tribble "    that    needed    the     Perth 

I  his  manner,  and 


doctor   made   no   dirference  i 
he  passed  his  snuff  box  across 


the  seat  before 


IN  MARt'.KTS  (;.\RnKN 


3» 


the  \o\v^  prayer  as  usual,  but  in  iius  imlifrcrencc 
to  privileges  Peter  was  exceptional. 

You  could  never  n\eet  Kirsty  Stewart  on  equal 
terms,  althouj^h  she  was  quite  affable  to  atiy  one 
who  knew  his  place. 

"  Ay,"  she  said,  on  my  respectful  allusion  to 
her  experience,  "  a'vc  seen  niair  than  most.  It 
doesna  become  me  to  boast,  but  tho'  I  say  it  as 
suilna,  I  hae  buried  a'  my  ain  fouk." 

Kirsty  had  a  "way"  in  sick  visiting,  consisting 
in  a  certain  cadence  of  the  voice  and  arrangement 
of  the  face,  which  was  felt  to  be  soothing  and 
complimentary. 

"  Yir  aboot  ;t.gain,  a'm  glad  to  see,"  to  me  after 
my  accident,  "  but  yir  no  dune  wi'  that  leg  ;  na, 
na,  Jeems,  that  was  ma  secoiul  son,  scrapit  his 
shin  aince,  tho'  no  so  bad  as  ye've  dune  a'm 
hearing  (for  I  had  denied  Kirsty  the  courtes}'  of 
an  inspection).  It's  sax  year  syne  noo,  and 
he  got  up  and  wcs  traivcllin'  fell  hearty  like 
yerscl.  But  he  begood  to  dwam  (sicken)  in  the 
end  of  the  year,  and  soughed  awa'  in  the  spring. 
Ay,  ay,  when  tribble  comes  yc  never  ken 
hoo  it  'ill  end.     A'  thdcht  I   wud  come  up  and 


t  is 


32 


DOxMSIE 


Ui  :'i^ 


]  t 


ri 


l\     I 


W      ! 


if  :| 

III 


speir  for  yc.      A    body  needs    comfort  gin  he's 
sober  (ill)." 

When  I  found  George  wrapped  in  his  plaid 
beside  the  brier  bush  whose  roses  were  no  whiter 
than  his  checks,  Kirsty  was  already  installed  as 
comforter  in  the  parlour,  and  her  drone  came 
through  the  open  window. 

"Ay,  ay,  Margct,  sae  it's  ^-^cu  to  this. 
Weel,  we  daurna  complain,  ye  ken.  Be  thankfu' 
ye  haena  lost  your  man  and  five  sons,  besides 
twa  sisters  and  a  brithcr,  no  to  mention  cousins. 
That  wud  be  something  to  ^peak  aboot,  and 
Losh  keep's,  there's  nae  saying  but  he  micht 
hang  on  a  whilie.  Ay,  ay,  it's  a  sair  blow 
aifter  a'  that  wes  in  the  papers.  I  wes  feared 
when  I  heard  o'  the  papers ;  *  Lat  weel  ala'x,' 
says  I  to  the  Dominie;  'ye  'ill  bring  a  judgni  •!.'. 
on  the  laddie  wi'  yir  blawing.*  But  ye  micht  a- 
weel  hae  spoken  to  the  hills.  Domsie's  a  thraun 
body  at  the  best,  and  he  was  clean  infatuat' 
wi'  George.  Ay,  ay,  it's  an  awfu'  lesson, 
Marget,  no  to  mak'  idols  o'  our  bairns,  for  that's 
naethin'  else  than  provokin'  the  Almichty." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Marget  gave  way  and 


i,><. 


IN  MAKGET'S  GARDEN  33 

scandalized  Drumtochty,  which  held  that  ob 
trusive  prosperity  was  an  irresistible  provoeation 
to  the  higher  powers,  and  that  a  skilful  deprecia- 
tion of  our  children  was  a  policy  of  safety. 

"Did    ye    say  the    Almichty?      !'„,   thinkin" 
that  3  o„„  g^^^j  ^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^^ 

What   wud  ye    think   o'   a   faither    that    brocht 
hame  some  bonnie  thing  fra^,  the  fair  for  ane 
o'  h,s  bairns,  and  when  the  puir  bairn  wes  pleased 
W  .t  tore  it  oot  o"  his  hand  and  flung  it  into 
the  hre?     Eh,  woman,  he  wud  be  a  meeserable 
cankered  jealous  body.     Kirsty,  wumman,  when 
the  Almichty  sees  a  mither  bound   up  in  her 
laddie.  I  tell  ye  He  is  sair  pleased  in  His  heaven 
for  mind  ye  hoo  He  loved  His  ain  Son.     Besides' 
a'm   judgin-  that  nane  o'  us  can   love  anither 
withoot    lovin'    Him,    or    hurt    anither    withoot 
hurtm'  Him. 

"Oh,  I  ken  weel  that  George  is  gaein'  to  leave 
us  ;  but  .fs  no  because  the  Almichty  is  jealous  o' 
him  or  me.  no  likely.  It  cam'  to  me  last  nicht 
that  He  needs  my  laddie  for  some  grand  wark  in 
the  itber  world,  and  that's  hoo  G.o.-ge  has  his 
bukes  brocht  oot  tae  the  garden  and  studies  a" 


t 

) 

\ 

111 


;»  V 


1 


m 


Ui- 


4 


■III, ' 


i  i  i 


34 


DOMSIE 


I 


!  in 


)  ■:: 


i   ■ 


r  i'^ 


the  day.  lie  wants  to  be  ready  for  his  kingdom, 
just  as  he  trachled  in  the  bit  schule  o'  Drum- 
tochty  for  K^'.inboro'.  I  hoped  he  vvud  hae  been 
a  minister  o'  Christ's  Gospel  here,  but  he  'ill 
be  judge  over  many  cities  yonder.  A'm  iio 
denyin',  Kirsty,  that  it's  a  trial,  but  I  hae  licht 
on    it,   and    naethin'   but    gude    thochts   o'   the 

Almichty." 

Drumtochty  understood  that  Kirsty  had  dealt 
faithfully  with  Marget  for  pride  and  presump- 
t.on,  but  all  we  heard  was,  "  Losh  keep  us  a'." 

When   Marget  came  out  and  sat  down  beside 
her  s^n,  her  face  was  shining.     Then  she  saw  the 
open  window. 
"Ididnaken." 

"  Never  mind,  mither,  there's  nae  secrets  atween 
us,  and  it  gar'd  my  heart  leap  to  hear  ye  speak 
up  like  yon  for  God,  and  to  know  yir  content. 
Div  ye  mind  the  nicht  I  called  for  ye,  mother, 
and  ye  gave  .ne  the  Gospel  aboot  God  ?  " 

Marget  slipped  her  hand  into  George's,  and  he 
let  bis  head  rest  on  her  shoulder.  The  likeness 
flashed  upon  me  in  that  moment,  the  earnest  deep- 
set  grey  eyes,  the  clean-cut   firm  jaw,  and   the 


IN  MARGET'S  GARDEN 


35 


tender  mobile  lips,  that  blend  of  apparent  austerity 
and  underlying  romance  that  make  the  pathos  of 
a  Scottish  face. 

"  There  had  been  a  Revival  man,  here,"  George 
explained  to  me,  *  and  he  was  preaching  on  hell. 
As  it  grew  dark  a  candle  was  lighted,  and  I  can 
still  see  his  face  as  in  a  picture,  a  hard-visaged 
man.  He  looked  down  at  us  laddies  in  the  front, 
and  asked  us  if  we  knew  what  like  hell  was.  By 
this  time  we  were  that  terrified  none  of  us  could 
speak,  but  I  whispered  '  No.' 

"  Then  he  rolled  up  a  piece  of  paper  and  held 
it  in  the  flame,  and  we  saw  it  burn  and  glow  and 
shrivel  up  and  fall  in  black  dust. 

"  *  Think,'  said  he,  and  he  leaned  over  the  desk, 
and  spoke  in  a  gruesome  whisper  which  mad'^  the 
cold  run  down  our  backs,  '  that  yon  paper  was 
your  finger,  one  finger  only  of  your  hand,  and  it 
burned  like  that  for  ever  and  ever,  and  think  of 
your  hand  and  your  arm  and  your  whole  body  all 
on  fire,  never  to  go  out.'  We  shuddered  that  you 
might  have  heard  the  form  creak.  *  That  is  hell, 
and  that  is  where  ony  laddie  will  go  who  does  not 
repent  and  believe.* 


i  *IW 


i 


'mmsmmsm 


mma 


1/ 


li: 


i  U 


r 


il   I  : 


Si 

fit 


-  \ 


36 


DOMSIE 


"  It  was  like  Dante's  Inferno,  and  I  dared  not 
take  my  eyes  off  his  face.  He  blew  out  the 
candle,  and  we  crept  to  the  door  trembling,  not 
able  to  say  one  word. 

"  That  night  I  could  not  sleep,  for  I  thought  I 
might  be  in  the  fire  before  morning.  It  was 
harvest  time,  and  the  moon  was  filling  the  room 
with  cold  clear  light.  From  my  bed  I  could  see 
the  stooks  standing  in  rows  upon  the  field,  and  it 
seemed  like  the  judgment  day. 

"  I  was  only  a  wee  laddie,  and  I  did  what  we 
all  do  in  trouble,  I  cried  for  my  mother. 

"  Ye  hae  na  forgotten,  mither,  the  fricht  that 
was  on  me  that  nicht." 

"Never,"  said  Marget,  "and  never  can;  it's 
hard  wark  for  me  to  keep  frac  hating  that 
man,  dead  or  alive.  Geordie  gripped  me  wi' 
baith  his  wee  airms  round  my  neck,  and  he 
cries  over  and  over  and  over  again,  'Is  yon 
God?' 

"Ay,  and  ye  kissed  me,  mither,  and  ye  said 
(it's  like  yesterday),  *  Yir  safe  with  me,'  and  ye  telt 
me  that  God  micht  punish  me  to  mak  me  better 
if  I  was  bad,  but  that  he  wud  never  torture  ony 


If 


III! 


)^! 


IN  MARGET'S  GARDEN  37 

puir  soul,  for  that  cud  dae  nae  guid,  and  was  the 

Devil's  wark.     Ye  asked  me : 
"  •  Am  I  a  guid  mother  tae  ye  ? '  and  when   I 

could  dae  naethin'  but  hold,  ye  said, '  Be  sure  God 

maun  be  a  hantle  kinder.' 
"  The  truth  came  to  me  as  with  a  flicker,  and  I 

cuddled  down  into  my  bed,  and  fell  asleep  in  His 

love  as  in  my  mother's  arms. 
"  Mither,"  and  George  lifted  up  his  head,  "that 

was  my  conversion,  and,  mither  dear,  I  hae  longed 
a'  thro'  thae  college  studies  for  the  day  when  ma 
mooth  wud  be  opened  wi'  this  evangel." 

Marget's  was  an  old-fashioned  garden,  with 
pinks  and  daisies  and  forget-me-nots,  with  sweet- 
scented  wall-flower  and  thyme  and  moss  roses, 
where  nature  had  her  way,  and  gracious  thoughts 
could  visit  one  without  any  jarring  note.  As 
George's  voice  softened  to  the  close,  I  caught  her 
saying,  "  His  servants  shall  see  His  face,"  and  the 
peace  of  Paradise  fell  upon  us  in  the  shadow  of 
death. 

The  night  before  the  end  George  was  carried 
out  to  his  corner,  and  Domsie,  whose  heart  was 
nigh  unto  the  breaking,  sat  with  him  the  after- 


m  I 


V 


-  V  u 

I 


^■i 


'; 


II  ' '  I 

1'  » 

'I 


i||; 


*> 


I  :- 


r 


tt 


I' 


i^'l 


38 


DOMSIE 


noon.  They  used  to  fight  the  College  battles  over 
again,  with  their  favourite  classics  beside  them, 
but  this  time  none  of  them  spoke  of  books. 
Marget  was  moving  about  the  garden,  and  she  told 
me  that  George  looked  at  Domsie  wistfully,  as  if 
he  had  something  to  say  and  knew  not  how  to  do  it. 

After  a  while  he  took  a  book  from  below  his 
pillow,  and  began,  like  one  thinking  over  his 
words  : 

"  Maister  Jamieson,  ye  hae  been  a  gude  freend 
tae  me,  the  best  I  ever  hed  aifter  my  mither  and 
faither.  Wull  ye  tak  this  buik  for  a  keepsake  o' 
yir  grateful  scholar  ?  It's  a  Latin  '  Imitation,' 
Dominie,  and  it's  bonnie  printin'.  Ye  mind  hoo 
ye  gave  me  yir  ain  Virgil,  and  said  he  was  a  kind 
o'  Pagan  sanct.  Noo  here  is  my  sanct,  and  div 
ye  ken  I've  often  thocht  Virgil  saw  His  day  afar 
off,  and  was  glad.     Wull  ye  read  it.  Dominie,  for 

my  sake,  and  maybe  ye  'ill  come  to  see "  and 

George  could  not  find  words  for  more. 

But  Domsie  understood.  "Ma  laddie,  ma 
laddie,  that  I  luve  better  than  onythin'  on  earth, 
I'll  read  it  till  I  die,  and,  George,  I'll  tell  ye  what 
livin'  man  does  na  ken.     When  I  was  your  verra 


IN  MARGET'S  GARDKN 


39 


age  I  had  a  cruel  trial,  and  ma  heart  was  turned 
frac  faith.  The  classics  hae  been  my  bible,  though 
I  said  nacthin'  to  ony  man  against  Christ.  He 
aye  seemed  beyond  man,  and  noo  the  veesion  o' 
Him  has  come  to  me  in  this  gairden.  Laddie,  ye 
hae  dune  far  mair  for  mc  than  I  ever  did  for  you. 
Wull  ye  mak  a  prayer  for  yir  auld  dominie  afore 
we  pairt  ?  " 

There  was  a  thrush  singing  in  the  birches  and  a 
sound  of  bees  in  the  air,  when  George  prayed  in  a 
low,  soft  voice,  with  a  little  break  in  it. 

"Lord  Jesus,  remember  my  dear  mais'-r,  for 
he's  been  a  kind  frcend  to  me  and  mony  a  puir 
laddie  in  Drumtochty.  Bind  up  his  sair  heart  and 
give  him  licht  at  eventide,  and  may  the  maister  and 
his  scholars  meet  some  mornin'  where  the  schule 
never  skails,  in  the  kingdom  o'  oor  Father." 

Twice  Domsie  said  Amen,  and  it  seemed  as 
the  voice  of  another  man,  and  then  he  kissed 
George  upon  the  forehead  ;  but  what  they  said 
Marget  did  not  wish  to  hear. 

When  he  passed  out  at  the  garden  gate,  the 
westering  sun  was  shining  golden,  and  the  face  of 
Domsie  was  like  unto  that  of  a  little  child. 


\i>:- 


i 


ti 


\  !  I 


IV 


■.:,   .'  I 


V 

}l 

'\ 

A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL 

Drumtochty  never  acquitted  itself  with  credit 

at  a  marriage,   having   no   natural   aptitude   for 

gaiety,  and  being  haunted  with  anxiety  lest  any 

"  hicht "  should  end  in  a  "  howe,"  but  the  parish 

had  a  genius  for  funerals.     It  was  long  mentioned 

with    a    just    sense   of    merit    that   an    English 

undertaker,  chancing  on  a  "  beerial  "  with  us,  had 

no    limits    to    his    admiration.      He    had    been 

disheartened  to  despair  all  his  life  by  the  ghastly 

efforts  of  chirpy  little  Southerners  to  look  solemn 

on  occasion,  but  his  dreams  were  satisfied  at  the 

sight   of    men   like    Drumsheugh   and    Hillocks 

in  their  Sabbath  blacks.     Nature  lent  an  initial 

advantage  in  face,  but  it  was  an  instinct  in  the 

blood    that   brought   our    manner   to   perfection 

and  nothing  could  be  more  awful  than  a  group 

of  those  austere  figures,  each  man   gazing   into 


)n 
P 


A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL  41 

vacancy  without  a  trace  of  expression,  and 
refusing  to  recognise  his  nearest  neighbour  by 
word  or  look.  Drumtochty  gave  itself  to  a 
"  beerial "  with  chastened  satisfaction,  partly  because 
it  lay  near  to  the  sorrow  of  things,  and  partly 
because  there  was  nothing  of  speculation  in  it. 
"  Ye  can  hae  little  racl  pleesurc  in  a  mcrrige," 
explained  our  gravedigger,  in  whom  the  serious 
side  had  been  perhaps  abnormally  developed, 
•'  for  ye  never  ken  hoo  it  will  end  ;  but  there's  nae 
risk  about  a  '  beerial.' " 

It  came  with  a  shock  upon  townsmen  that 
the  ceremony  began  with  a  "  service  o'  spcerit?," 
and  that  an  attempt  of  the  Free  Kirk  minister  to 
replace  this  by  the  reading  of  Scripture  was 
resisted  as  an  "  innovation."  Yet  every  one 
admitted  that  the  seriousness  of  Drumtochty 
pervaded  and  sanctified  this  function.  A  tray 
of  glasses  was  placed  on  a  table  with  great 
solemnity  by  the  "  wricht,"  who  made  no  sign 
and  invited  none.  You  might  have  supposed 
that  the  circumstance  had  escaped  the  notice 
of  the  company,  so  abstracted  and  unconscious 
was    their    manner,    had   it   not   been   that   two 


! 


I 


(  '! 


'^^^^mmmmmmmmmm 


n 


4» 


DOMSIK 


graven  images  a  minute  later  are  standing  at  the 
table. 

"Ye  'ill  taste,  Tammas,"  with  settled  melancholy. 

•'Na,  na;  I've  nae  incleenation  the  day;  it's 
an  awfu'  dispensation  this,  Jcems.  She  wud  be 
barely  saxty." 

"Ay,  ay,  but  we  maun  keep  up  the  body 
sae  lang  as  we're  here,  Tammas." 

"  Weel,  puttin'  it  that  way,  a'm  no  sayin'  but 
yir  richt,"  yielding  unwillingly  ♦  the  force  of 
circumstance. 

"We're  here  the  day  and  there  the  morn, 
Tammas.  She  wes  a  fine  wumman — Mistress 
Stirton — a  weel-livin'  wumman  ;  this  'ill  be  a 
blend,  a'm  thinkin'." 

"She  slippit  afif  sudden  in  the  end  ;  a'm  judgin' 
it's  frae  the  Muirtown  grocer ;  but  a  body  canna 
discreeminate  on  a  day  like  this." 

Before  the  glasses  are  empty  all  idea  of  drinking 
is  dissipated,  and  one  has  a  vague  impression 
that  he  is  at  church. 

It  was  George  Howe's  funeral  that  broke  the 
custom  and  closed  the  "  service."  When  I  came 
into    the    garden    where    the    neighbours    were 


' 


A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL 


43 


gathered,  the  "vvricht"  was  removing  his  tray, 
and  not  a  glass  had  been  touched.  Then  I  knew 
that  Drumtochty  had  a  sense  of  the  fitness  of 
things,  and  was  stirred  to  its  depths. 

"  Ye  saw  the  wricht  carry  in  his  tray,"  said 
Drumsheugh,  as  we  went  home  from  the  kirk -yard. 
"  Weel,  yon's  the  last  sicht  o't  ye  'ill  get,  or  a'm 
no  Drumsheugh.  I've  nac  objection  ma'sel  to  a 
nee'bur  tastin'  at  a  funeral,  a'  the  mair  if  he's 
come  frae  the  upper  end  o'  the  pairish,  and  ye 
ken  I  dinna  hold  wi'  thae  teetotal  fouk.  A'm 
ower  auld  in  the  horn  to  change  noo.  But  there's 
times  and  seasons,  as  the  gude  Bulk  says,  and 
it  wud  hae  been  an  awfu'  like  business  tae  luik  at 
a  gless  in  Marget's  gairden,  and  puir  Domsie 
standing  in  ahent  the  brier  bush  as  if  he  cud 
never  lift  his  heid  again.  Ye  may  get  shairpcr 
fouk  in  the  uptak',  but  ye  'ill  no  get  a  pairish 
with  better  feelin's.  It  'ill  be  a  kind  o'  sateesfaction 
tae  Marget  when  she  hears  o't.  She  was  aye 
against  tastin',  and  a'm  judgin'  her  tribble  has 
ended  it  at  beerials." 

"  Man,  it  was  hard  on  some  o'  yon  lads  the 
day,  but  there  wesna  ane  o'  them  made  a  mudge. 


■J   ' 


'/ill! 

',    !         I 


ll'l 


hi! 


\' 


Is  k 


%  i 


i-  ' 


I' 


44 


DOMSIE 


I  kccpit  my  eye  on  Posty,  but  he  never  lookit 
the  way  it  wcs.  He's  a  drouthy  body,  but  he 
hes  his  fech'n's,  hes  Posty." 

licfore  the  Doctor  began  the  prayer,  Whinnie 
took  me  up  to  the  room. 

"  There's  twa  o'  Geordie's  Collccre  frcends  with 
Marget,  grand  scholars  a'm  tclt,  and  there's 
anithcr  I  canna  weel  mak  oot.  Me's  terrible 
cast  doon,  and  Marget  speaks  as  if  she  kent  him." 

It  was  a  low-roofed  room,  with  a  box  bed 
and  some  pieces  of  humble  furniture,  fit  only  for 
a  labouring  man.  But  the  choice  treasures  of 
Greece  and  Rome  lay  on  the  table,  and  on  a 
shelf  beside  the  bed  College  prizes  and  medals, 
while  everywhere  were  the  roses  he  loved.  His 
peasant  mother  stood  beside  the  body  of  her 
scholar  son,  whose  hopes  and  thoughts  she  had 
shared,  and  through  the  window  came  the  bleating 
of  distant  shcjp.  It  was  the  idyll  of  Scottish 
University  life. 

George's  friends  were  characteristic  men,  each 
of  his  ovi/n  type,  and  could  only  have  met  in  the 
commonwealth  of  letters.  One  was  of  an  ancient 
Scottish  house  which  had  fought  for  Mary  against 


A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNKRAr,  45 

the  Lord,  of  the  Cong,-cgatio„,  ,„llowed   Fn.ice 
a>arl,c  to  CuUode,,,  and  were  High  Ch.nch  and 
Tot,  to  the  last  drop  of  thcfr  blood.     Ludovie 
Gordon   left   Harrow   with    the   reputation   of  a 
class,e,  and  had  expected  to  be  first  at  Edinboro' 
It  was  Gordon,  in   fact,  that  Domsie  feared  in 
the  great  war,  but  he  proved  second  to  Margefs 
son,  and  being  of  the  breed  of  Prince  Jonathan, 
which  is  the  same  the  world  over,  he  c,,me  to 
love  our  David  as  his  own  soul.     The  other  a 
dark    little    man,   with   a   quick,   fiery  eye,   was 
a  Western  Celt,  who  had  worried  his  way  from  a 
hshing   croft    in    Karra  to   be   an   easy   first   u, 
iliilosophy  at  Edinboro',  and  George  and  Ronald 
Maclean  were  as  brotl,ors  because  there  is  nothin.. 
so  different  as  Scottish  and  M  ighland  blood.        " 

'■Mai.ster  Gordon,- said  Marget, "this  is  George's 
Homer,  and  he  bade  me  tell  you  that  he  coonted 
yir  freendship  ain  o'  the  gifts  o'  God." 

For  a  brief  space  Gordon  was  silent,  and,  when 

he  spoke,  his  voice  sounded  stranrre  in  that  room. 

"Your  son  was  the  finest  scholar  of  my  time 

a..d  a  very  perfect  gentleman.     He  was  also  my 

true  friend,  and  I  pray  God  to  console  his  mother  " 


n 


\t 


'A 

11 

'*\ ' 

11 

V. 

iv 

;i 

^'  i 

i 

ji 

*'■(.; 


lii 


■if 


■n . 


SBB 


ff     ' 


u 


ft 


'I 


46 


DOMSIE 


And  Ludovic  Gordon  bowed  low  over  Marget's 
worn  hand  as  if  she  had  been  a  queen. 

Marget  Hfted  Plato,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
day  as  if  the  dignity  of  our  Lady  of  Sorrows  had 
fallen  upon  her, 

"  This  is  the  bulk  George  chose  for  you,  Maister 
Maclean,  for  he  aye  said  to  me  ye  hed  been  a 
prophet  and  shown  him  mony  deep  things." 

The  tears  sprang  to  the  Celt's  eyes. 

"  It  wass  like  him  to  make  all  other  men  better 
than  himself,"  with  the  soft,  sad  Highland  accent ; 
"and  a  proud  woman  you  are  to  hef  been  his 
mother." 

The  third  man  waited  at  the  window  till  the 
scholars  left,  and  then  I  saw  he  was  none  of 
that  kind,  but  one  who  had  been  a  slave  of  sin 
and  now  was  free. 

"  Andra  Chaumers,  George  wished  ye  tae  "hev 
his  Bible,  and  he  expecks  ye  tae  keep  the  tryst." 

"  God  helping  me,  I  will,"  said  Chalmers, 
hoarsely  ;  and  from  the  garden  ascended  a  voice, 
"  O  God,  who  art  a  very  present  help  in  trouble." 

The  Doctor's  funeral  prayer  was  one  of  the 
glories  of  the  parish,  compelling  even  the  Free 


A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL 


47 


Kirk  to  reluctant  admiration,  although  they  hinted 
that  its  excellence  was  rather  of  the  letter  than 
the  spirit,  and  regarded  its  indiscriminate  charity 
with  suspicion.  It  opened  with  a  series  of  extracts 
from  the  Psalms,  relieved  by  two  excursions  into 
the  minor  prophets,  and  led  up  to  a  sonorous 
recitation  of  the  problem  of  immortality  from  Job, 
with  its  triumphant  solution  in  the  peroration  of 
the  fifteenth  chapter  of  i  Corinthians.  Drum- 
tochty  men  held  their  breath  till  the  Doctor 
reached  the  crest  of  the  hill  (Hillocks  disgraced 
himself  once  by  dropping  his  staff  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  Doctor  was  passing  from  Job 
to  Paul),  and  then  we  '-elaxed  while  the  Doctor 
descended  to  local  detail.  It  was  understood  that 
it  took  twenty  years  to  bring  the  body  of  this 
prayer  to  perfection,  and  any  change  would  have 
been  detected  and  resented. 

The  Doctor  made  a  good  start,  and  had  already 
sighted  Job,  when  he  was  carried  out  of  his  course 
by  a  sudden  current,  and  began  to  speak  to  God 
about  Marget  and  her  son,  after  a  very  simple 
fashion  that  brought  a  lump  to  the  throat,  till  at 
last,  as  I  imagine,  the  sight  of  the  laddie  working 


■   *f'  i 

-in  '• 

■      1    i       IT 

1     •    !  ' 

'4 


r 


V  I 


11 


t- 


48 


DOMSIE 


at  h,s  Greek  in  the  study  of  a  winter  night  came 
up   before   him,  and  the  remnants  of  the  greet 
prayer  melted  hke  an  iceberg  in  the  Gulf  Stream. 
"  Lord,  hae  peety  upon  us.  for  we  a'  luved  him, 
and  we  were  a'  prood  o'  him." 

After  the  Doctor  said  "Amen"  with  majesty 
one  used  to  look  at  his  neighbour,  and  the  other 
would  shut  his  eyes  and  shake  his  head,  meaning 
"There's  no  use  asking  me,  for  it  simply  can't 
be  better  done  by  living  man."  This  time  no  one 
remembered  his  neighbour,  because  every  eye 
was  fixed  on  the  Doctor.  Drumtochty  was 
identifymg  its  new  minister. 

"  It  may  be  that  I  hef  judged  him  hardly," 
said  Lachlan  Campbell,  one  of  the  Free  Kirk 
Highlanders,  and  our  St.  Dominic.  "I  shall 
never  again  deny  that  the  root  of  the  matter 
IS  m  the  man,  although  much  choked  with  the 
tares  of  worldliness  and  Arminianism." 

"  He  is  a  goot  man.  Lachlan,"  replied  Donald 
Menzies,  another  Celt,  and  he  was  our  St 
Francis,  for  "  every  one  that  loveth  is  born  of 
God." 

There  was  no  hearse  in  Drumtochty,  and  we 


If 


A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL  49 

carried  our  dead  by  relays  of  four,  who  waded 
every  stream  unless  more  than  knee  deep,  the 
rest  following  in  straggling,  picturesque  'pro- 
cession over  the  moor  and  across  the  stepping 
stones.  Before  we  started,  Marget  came  out 
and  arranged  George's  white  silken  hood  upon 
the  coffin  with  roses  in  its  folds. 

She  swept  us  into  one  brief  flush  of  gratitude, 
from  Domsie  to  Posty. 

"Neeburs,  ye  were  V  his  freends,  and  he 
wanted  ye  tae  ken  hoo  yir  trust  wcs  mickle  help 
tae  him  in  his  battle." 

There  was  a  stir  within  us,  and  it  came  to 
birth  in  Drumsheugh  of  all  men  : 

"  Marget   Hoo,  this  is   no  the   day   for   mony 
words,  but  there's  juist  ae  heart  in  Drumtochty 
and  it's  sair." 

No  one  spoke  to  Domsie  as  we  went  down  the 
cart  track,  with  the  ripe  corn  standing  on  either 
side,  but  he  beckoned  Chalmers  to  walk  with 
him, 

"  Ye  hae  heard  him  speak  o'  me,  then,  Maister 
Jamieson?" 

"Ay,   oftentimes,   and   he   said   once   that    ye 


H 


fk 


Hi 


m 


.11 


flit 


immm 


50 


DOMSIE 


H 


i   f;! 


i  I 
h 


were  hard  driven,  but  that  ye  had  trampled  Satan 
under  yir  feet." 

"  He  didna  tell  ye  all,  for  if  it  hadna  been  for 
George  Howe  I  wudna  been  worth  callin'  a  man 
this  day.  One  night  when  he  was  workin'  hard 
for  his  honours  examination  and  his  disease  was 
heavy  upon  him,  puir  fellow,  he  sought  me  oot 
where  I  was,  and  wouldna  leave  till  I  cam'  wi 
him. 

"  *  Go  home,'  I  sai^.,  '  Howe ;  it's  death  for  ye 
to  be  oot  in  this  sleet  and  cold.  Why  not  leave 
me  to  lie  in  the  bed  I  hae  made  ? ' 

"  He  took  me  by  the  arm  into  a  passage.  I 
see  the  gaslicht  on  his  white  face,  and  the  shining 
o'  his  eyes. 

"  *  Because  I  have  a  mother   .    .       / 

"  Dominie,  he  pulled  me  oot  o'  h  Jl." 

"  Me  tae,  Andra,  but  no  your  hell.  Ye  mind 
the  Roman  Triumph,  when  a  general  cam'  hame 
wi'  his  spoils.  Laddie,  we're  the  captives  that  go 
with  his  chariot  up  the  Capitol." 

Donald  Menzies  was  a  man  of  moods,  ard  the 
Doctor's  prayer  had  loosed  his  imagination  so 
that  he  saw  visions 


A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL 


SI 


wi 


"  Look,"  said  he,  as  we  stood  on  a  ridge,  "  I  hef 
seen  it  before  in  the  book  of  Joshua." 

Below  the  bearers  had  crossed  a  burn  on  foot, 
and  were  ascending  the  slope  where  an  open  space 
of  deep  green  was  fringed  with  purple  heather. 

"  The  ark  hass  gone  over  Jordan,  and  George 
will  have  come  into  the  Land  of  Promise." 

The  September  sunshine  glinted  on  the  white 
silk  George  won  with  his  blood,  and  fell  like  a 
benediction  on  the  two  figures  that  climbed  the 
hard  ascent  close  after  the  man  they  loved. 

Strangers  do  not  touch  our  dead  in  Drumtochty, 
but  the  eight  of  nearest  blood  lower  the  body  into 
the  grave.  The  order  of  precedence  is  keenly 
calculated,  and  the  loss  of  a  merited  cord  can 
never  be  forgiven.  Marget  had  arranged  every- 
thing with  Whinnie,  and  all  saw  the  fitness.  His 
father  took  the  head,  and  the  feet  (next  in  honour) 
he  gave  to  Domsie. 

"Ye  maun  dae  it.  Marget  said  ye  were  o' 
his  ain  bluid." 

On  the  right  side  the  cords  were  handed  to  the 
Doctor,  Gordon,  and  myself;  and  on  the  left  to 
Drumsheugh,  Maclean,  and  Chalmers.      Domsie 


n 


ii 


!1  I  ^ 

lb  I        i      \ 


M; 


1 

1 

i 

<l 

m 


a 


lii 


5» 


DOMSIE 


lifted  the  hood  for  Margct,  but  tlic  roses  he  gently 
placed  on  George's  name.  Then  with  bent, 
uncovered  heads,  and  in  unbroken  silence,  we 
buried  all  that  remained  of  our  scholar. 

We  always  waited  till  the  grave  was  filled  and 
the  turf  laid  down,  a  trying  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Ah  me !  the  thud  of  the  spade  on  your  mother's 
grave  !  None  gave  any  sign  of  what  he  felt  save 
Drumsheugh,  whose  sordid  slough  had  slipped  off 
from  a  tender  heart,  and  Chalmers,  who  went 
behind  a  tombstone  and  sobbed  aloud.  Not 
even  Posty  asked  the  reason  so  much  as  by 
a  look,  and  Drumtochty,  as  it  passed,  made  as 
though  it  did  not  see.  But  I  marked  that  the 
Dominie  took  Chalmers  home,  and  walked  all  the 
way  with  him  to  Kildrummie  station  next  morn- 
ing. His  friends  erected  a  granite  cross  over 
George's  grave,  and  it  was  left  to  Domsie  to 
choose  the  inscription.  There  was  a  day  when  it 
would  have  been,  "  Whom  the  gods  love  die 
young."  Since  then  Domsie  had  seen  the 
kingdom  of  God,  and  this  is  graven  where  the 
roses  bloomed  fresh  every  summer  for  twenty 
years  till  Marget  was  laid  with  her  son  : 


A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL  53 

George  Howk,  M.A., 

Died  September  22nd,  1S69, 

Aged  21. 

"They  shall  briiiR  the  glory  ar.d  honour  of  the 
nations  into  it." 

It  was  a  late  November  day  when  I  went  to  see 
George's  memorial,  and  the  immortal  hope  was 
hurning  low  in  my  heart ;  but  as  I  stood  before 
that  cross,  the  sun  struggled  from  behind  a  black 
watery  bank  of  cloud,  and  picked  out  every  letter 
of  the  Apocalypse  in  gold. 


i! 


- 1 


f  i 


(     i 


V, 

1  ; 

1  :  '•: 

>i 

.  i 
1 

1 

1  /  ! 

f 

i» 

!  '■' 

;i 

i  ■  ■ 

t' 

A    HIGHLAND    MYSTIC 


( 

f 
> '  I 


!  I 


1 

i 

I'l'l 

\ 

1 

f  < 

t 

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\ 


I'  ■ 


WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN 

Strange   ministers  who  came  to  assist  at  the 
Free  Kirk  Sacrament  were  much  impressed  with 
the  elders,  and  never  forgot  the  transfiguration  of 
Donald  Menzies,  which  used  to  begin  about  the 
middle  of  the  "  action  "  sermon,  and  was  completed 
at  the  singing  of  the  last  Psalm.     Once  there  was 
no  glory,  because  the  minister,  being  still  young, 
expounded   a   new   theory  of  the  atonement  of 
German   manufacture,   and    Donald's    face    was 
piteous  to  behold.     Jt  haunted  the  minister  for 
months,  and   brought  to  confusion  a  promising 
course  of  sermons  on  the  contribution  of  Hegel  to 
Christian  thought.     Donald  never  laid  the  blame 
of  such  calamities  on  the  preacher,  but  accepted 
them   as  a  just  judgment  on  his   blindness  of 
heart 


ti.l 


S8 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


"  We  hef  had  the  open  vision,"  Donald  explained 
to  his  friend  Lachlan  Campbell,  who  distributed 
the  responsibility  in  another  fashion,  "and  wc 
would  not  see — so  the  veil  hass  fallen." 

Donald  sat  before  the  pulpit  and  filed  the 
hearts  of  nervous  probationers  with  dismay,  not 
because  his  face  was  critical,  but  because  it  seemed 
non-conducting,  upon  which  their  best  passages 
would  break  like  spray  against  a  rock.  It  was  by 
nature  the  dullest  you  ever  saw,  with  hair  descend- 
ing low  upon  the  forehead,  and  preposterous 
whiskers  dominating  everything  that  remained, 
except  a  heavy  mouth  and  brown,  lack-lustre 
eyes.  For  a  while  Donald  crouched  in  the  corner 
of  the  pew,  his  head  sunk  on  his  breast,  a  very 
picture  of  utter  hopelessness.  But  as  the  Evangel 
began  to  play  round  his  heart,  he  would  fix  the 
preacher  with  rapid,  wistful  glances,  as  of  one  who 
had  awaked  but  hardly  dared  believe  such  things 
could  be  true.  Suddenly  a  sigh  pervaded  six 
pews,  a  kind  of  gentle  breath  of  penitence,  faith, 
love,  and  hope  mingled  together  like  the  incense 
of  the  sanctuary,  and  Donald  lilted  up  his  head. 
I  lis  eyes  are  now  aflame,  and  those  sullen  lips  arc 


■  ■v; 


WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN 


59 


refining  into  curves  of  tenderness.  From  the 
manse  pew  I  watch  keenly,  for  at  any  moment  a 
wonderful  sight  may  be  seen.  A  radiant  smile 
will  pass  from  his  lips  to  his  eyes  and  spread  over 
his  face,  as  when  the  sun  shines  on  a  fallow  field 
and  the  rough  furrows  melt  into  warmth  and 
beauty.  Donald's  gaze  is  now  fixed  on  a  window 
above  the  preacher's  head,  for  on  these  great  days 
that  window  is  to  him  as  the  gate  of  heaven.  All 
I  could  see  would  be  a  bit  of  blue,  and  the  fretted 
sunlight  through  the  swaying  branches  of  an  old 
plane  tree.  But  Donald  has  seen  his  Lord  hang- 
ing upon  the  Cross  for  him,  and  the  New  Jerusalem 
descending  like  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husbai.d 
more  plainly  than  if  Perugino's  great  Crucifixion, 
with  the  kneeling  saints,  and  Angelico's  Outer 
Court  of  Heaven,  with  the  dancing  angels,  had 
been  hung  in  our  'ittle  Free  Kirk.  When  he 
went  down  the  aisle  with  the  flagon  in  the  Sacra- 
ment, he  walked  as  one  in  a  dream,  and  wist  not 
that  his  face  shone. 

There  was  an  interval  after  the  Sacrament, 
when  the  stranger  was  sent  to  his  room  with  light 
refreshments,  to  prepare  himself  for  the  evening, 


:M 


•i" 


1 

i 

i 

1  J' 

i 

•  I- 

i 

j  im 

.1 

m 

t 

' 

;, 

KM 

u 

6o 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


and  the  elders  dined  with  the  minister.  Before 
the  introduction  of  the  Highlanders  conversation 
had  an  easy  play  within  recognised  limits,  and 
was  always  op-ined  by  Burnbrae,  who  had  come 
out  in  '43,  and  was  understood  to  have  read  the 
Confession  of  Faith. 

"  Ye  gave  us  a  grawnd  discoorse  this  mornJn', 
sir,  baith  instructive  and  edifyin' ;  we  were  jjist 
sayin'  comin'  up  the  gairden  that  ye  were  never 
heard  to  mair  advantage." 

The  minister  was  much  relieved,  because  he  had 
not  been  hopeful  during  the  week,  and  was  still 
dissatisfied,  as  he  explained  at  length,  with  the 
passage  on  the  Colossian  heresy. 

When  these  doubts  had  been  cleared  up,  Burn- 
brae did  his  best  by  the  minister  up  stairs,  who 
had  submitted  himself  to  the  severe  test  of  table 
addresses. 

"  Yon  were  verra  suitable  words  at  the  second 
table ;  he's  a  speerituall}'^  minded  man,  Maister 
Cosh,  and  has  the  richt  sough." 

Or  at  the  worst,  when  Burnbrae's  courage  had 
failed : 

"  Maister  McKittrick  had  a  fine  text  afore  the 


WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN 


6i 


tabic.  I  aye  like  tac  sec  a  man  gang  tae  the 
Song  o'  Solomon  on  the  Sacrament  Sabbath.  A' 
mind  Dr  Guthrie  on  that  verra  subject  twenty 
years  syne." 

Having  paid  its  religious  dues,  conversation 
was  now  allowed  some  freedom,  and  it  was  won- 
derful how  many  things  could  be  touched  on, 
always  from  a  sacramental  standpoint. 

"  We've  been  awfu'  favoured  wi*  weather  the  day, 
and  ought  to  be  thankfu'.  Gin  it  hads  on  like  this  I 
wudna  say  but  th'ill  be  a  gude  hairst.  That's  a  fine 
pucklie  aits  ye  hae  in  the  laigh  p'^rk,  Burnbrae." 

"  A've  seen  waur  ;  they're  fillin'  no  that  bad.  I 
wes  juist  thinkin'  as  I  cam  to  the  Kirk  that  there 
wes  aits  in  that  field  the  Sacrament  after  the 
Disruption  " 

"  Did  ye  notice  that  Rachel  Skene  sat  in  her 
.<^eat  through  the  tables  ?  Says  I,  '  Are  ye  no 
gain  forrit,  Mistress  Skene,  or  hae  ye  lost  yir 
token  ?  *  Na,  na,'  says  she,  *  ma  token's  safe  in 
ma  hankerchicf ;  but  I  cudna  get  to  Kirk  yester- 
day, and  I  never  went  forrit  withoot  ma  Saiturday 
yet,  and  I'm  no  to  begin  noo.' " 

"  She  was  aye  a  richt-thinkin*  woman,  Rachel, 


If  , 


^  1 


wm 


6a 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


there's  nae  mistake  o'  that ;  a'  wonder  hoo  her 
son  is  gettin'  on  wi'  that  fairm  he's  takin' ;  a'  doot 
it's  rack-rented." 

It  was  an  honest,  satisfying  conversation,  and 
reminded  one  of  the  parish  of  Drumtochty,  being 
both  quoad  sacra  and  quoad  civilia. 

When  the  Highlanders  came  in,  Burnbrae  was 
deposed  after  one  encounter,  and  the  minister 
was  reduced  to  a  state  of  timid  suggestion.  There 
were  days  when  they  would  not  speak  one  word, 
and  were  understood  to  be  lost  in  meditation  ;  on 
others  they  broke  in  on  any  conversation  that  was 
going  from  levels  beyond  the  imagination  of 
Drumtochty.  Had  this  happened  in  the  Auld 
Manse,  Drumsheugh  would  have  taken  for  granted 
that  Donald  was  "  feeling  sober  "  (ill),  and  recom- 
mended the  bottle  which  cured  him  of  "  a  hoast " 
(cough)  in  the  fifties.  But  the  Free  Kirk  had  been 
taught  that  the  Higlanders  were  unapproachable 
in  spiiitual  attainments,  and  even  Burnbrae  took 
his  discipline  meekly. 

"It  wes  a  mercy  the  mune  changed  last  week, 
Maister  Menzies,  or  a'm  thinkin'  it  hed  been  a 
we<*t  sacrament." 


WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN  63 

Donald  came  out  of  a  maze,  where  he  had  been 
wandering  in  great  peace. 

"  I  wass  not  hearing  that  the  moon  had  any- 
thing  to  do  in  the  matter.  Oh  no,  but  he  wass 
bound  hand  and  foot  by  a  mighty  man." 

"  Wha  was  bund  ?  A'm  no  juist  followin'  ye, 
Maister  Menzies." 

"  The  Prince  of  the  power  of  the  air.  Oh  yes, 
and  he  shall  not  be  loosed  till  the  occasion  be 
over.  I  hef  had  a  sign."  After  which  conversation 
on  the  weather  languished. 

Perhaps  the  minister  fared  worse  in  an  attempt 

to  extract  a  certificate  of  efficiency  from  Lachlan 

Campbell  in  favour  of  a  rhetorical  young  preacher. 

"A  fery  nice  speaker,  and  well  pleased  with 

himself.     But  I  v/ould  be  thinking,  when  he  wass 

giving  his  images.     Oh  yes,  I  would  be  thinking. 

There  was  a  laddie  fceshing  in  the  burn  before  my 

house,  and  a  fery  pretty  laddie  he  wass.     He  had 

a  rod  and  a  string,  and  he  threw  his  line  pcautiful. 

It  wass  a  great  peety  he  had  no  hook,  for  it  iss  a 

want,  and  you  do  not  catch  many  fish  without  a 

hook.     But  I  shall  be  glad  that  you  are  pleased, 

sir,  and  all  the  elders." 


h 


64 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


^ 


•?■  ■ 


I'll 


"1 

) 


These  were  only  passing  incidents,  and  left 
no  trace,  but  the  rebuke  Donald  gave  to  Burn- 
brae  will  be  told  while  an  elder  lives.  One  of  the 
last  of  the  old  mystical  school,  which  trace  their 
descent  from  Samuel  Rutherford,  had  described 
the  great  mystery  of  our  Faith  with  such  insight 
and  pathos,  that  Donald  had  stood  by  the  table 
weeping  gently,  and  found  himself  afterwards  in 
the  manse,  he  knew  not  how. 

The  silence  was  more  than  could  be  borne,  and 
his  former  responsibility  fell  on  Burnbrae. 

"  It  wes  wonnerful,  and  I  canna  mind  hearing 
the  like  o'  yon  at  the  tables  ;  but  I  wes  sorry  to 
see  the  Doctor  sae  failed.  He  wes  bent  twa  fad  ;  a* 
doot  it's  a  titch  o*  rheumatism,  or  maybe  lumbago." 

Johannine  men  are  subject  to  sudden  flashes  of 
anger,  and  Donald  blazed. 

"  Bent  down  with  rheumatism,  iss  that  what  you 
say  ?  Oh  yes,  it  will  be  rheumatism.  Hass  the 
sight  of  your  eyes  left  you,  and  hef  you  no  dis- 
cernment ?  Did  ye  not  see  that  he  was  bowed 
to  the  very  table  with  the  power  of  the  Word  ?  for 
it  was  a  fire  in  his  bones,  and  he  was  baptised 
with  the  Holy  Ghost." 


I 


ii 


WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN 


65 


When  the  elders  gathered  in  the  vestry,  the 
minister  asked  what  time  the  preacher  might  have 
for  his  evening  sermon,  and  Donald  again  burst 
forth : 

"  I  am  told  that  in  towns  the  Gospel  goes  by 
minutes,  like  the  trains  at  the  stations  ;  but  there 
iss  no  time-table  here,  for  we  shall  wait  till  the 
sun  goes  down  to  hear  all  things  God  will  be 
sending  by  His  servant" 

Good  memories  differ  about  the  text  that 
Sacrament  evening,  and  the  length  of  the  sermon, 
but  all  hold  as  a  treasure  for  ever  what  happened 
when  the  book  was  closed.  The  people  were  hushed 
into  a  quiet  that  might  be  felt,  and  the  old  man, 
swayed  by  the  spirit  of  the  Prophets,  began  to 
repeat  the  blessings  and  curses  in  the  Bible 
between  Genesis  and  Revelation,  and  after  each 
pair  he  cried  with  heart-piercing  voice,  "  Choose 
this  day  which  ye  will  take,"  till  Donald  could 
contain  himself  no  longer. 

"  Here  iss  the  man  who  hass  deserved  all  the 
curses,  and  here  iss  the  man  who  chooses  all  the 
blessings." 

Our  fathers  had  no  turn  for  sensation,  but  they 

B 


1  H 


•    } 


%A 


66 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


Sfl 


!i 


i; 


|i  / 


il 


II 


had  an  unerring  sense  of  a  spiritual  situation. 
The  preacher  paused  for  five  seconds,  while  no 
man  could  breathe,  and  then  lifting  up  his  hand  to 
Heaven  he  said,  with  an  indescribable  authority 
and  tenderness,  "  The  Lord  fulfil  the  desire  of 
your  heart  both  in  this  world  and  in  that  which  is  to 
come," 

Then  the  congregation  sang,  after  the  ancient 
custom  of  our  parts, 

"  Now  blessed  be  the  Lord  our  God, 
The  God  of  Israel," 

and  Donald's  face  was  one  glory,  because  he  saw 
in  the  soft  evening  light  of  the  upper  window  the 
angels  of  God  ascending  and  descending  upon  the 
Son  of  man. 

It  was  after  this  that  the  Free  Kirk  minister 
occupied  six  months  in  proving  that  Moses  did 
not  write  Deuteronomy,  and  Lachlan  was  trying 
for  the  same  period  to  have  the  minister  removed 
from  Drumtochty.  Donald,  deprived  by  one 
stroke  of  both  his  friends,  fell  back  on  me,  and 
told  me  many  things  I  loved  to  hear,  although 
they  were  beyond  my  comprehension. 


! 


I 


WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN  67 

"  It  wass  not  always  so  with  me  as  it  iss  this 
day,  for  I  once  had  no  ear  for  God's  voice,  and  my 
eyes  were  holden  that  I  saw  not  the  spiritual 
world.  But  sore  sickness  came  upon  me,  and  I 
wass  nigh  unto  death,  and  my  soul  awoke  within 
me  and  began  to  cry  like  a  child  for  its  mother. 
All  my  days  I  had  lived  on  Loch  Tay,  and  now  I 
thought  ofthe  other  country  into  which  I  would 
hef  to  be  going,  where  I  had  no  nest,  and  my  soul 
would  be  driven  to  and  fro  in  the  darkness  as 
a  bird  on  the  moor  of  Rannoch. 

"Janet  sent  for  the  minister,  and  he  was  fery 
kind,  and  he  spoke  about  my  sickness  and  my 
farm,  and  I  said  nothing.  For  I  wass  hoping  he 
would  tell  me  what  I  was  to  do  for  my  soul.  But  he 
began  upon  the  sheep  market  at  Amulrce,  and  I 
knew  he  wass  also  in  the  dark.  After  he  left  I 
turned  my  face  to  the  wall  and  wept. 

"  Next  morning  wass  the  Sabbath,  and  I  said  to 
Janet  : 

" '  Wrap  me  in  my  plaid,  and  put  me  in  a  cart, 
and  take  me  to  Aberfeldy.'  «  And  what  will  ye 
be  doing  at  Aberfeldy  ?  and  you  will  die  on  the 
road.'  '  There  iss,'  said  I, '  a  man  there  who  knows 


I    : 

i    I 


i  « 


I  ■  i 


68 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


I  f 


vn 


the  way  of  the  soul,  and  it  iss  better  to  die  with 
my  face  to  the  light.' 

*'  They  set  me  in  a  corner  of  the  church  where 
I  wass  thinking  no  man  could  see  me,  and  I  cried 
in  my  heart  without  ceasing,  *  Lord,  send  me — 
send  me  a  word  from  Thy  mouth.' 

"When  the  minister  came  into  the  pulpit  he 
gave  me  a  strange  look,  and  this  wass  his  text, 
'  Loose  him  and  let  him  go.* 

"  As  he  preached  I  knew  I  wass  Lazurus,  with 
the  darkness  of  the  grave  around  me,  and  my 
soul  straitly  bound.  I  could  do  nothing,  but  I 
wass  longing  with  all  my  strength. 

"  Then  the  minister  stopped,  and  he  said : 

"  There  iss  a  man  in  this  church,  and  he  will 
know  himself  who  it  iss.  When  I  came  in  this 
morning  I  saw  a  shadow  on  his  face,  and  I  knew 
not  whether  it  was  the  wing  of  the  Angel  of  Life 
or  the  Angel  of  Death  passing  over  him,  but  the 
Lord  has  made  it  plain  to  me,  and  I  see  the 
silver  feathers  of  the  Angel  of  the  Covenant,  and 
this  shall  be  a  sign  unto  that  man, "  Loose  him 
and  let  him  go." ' 

"  While  he  wass  still  speaking  I  felt  my  r>oul 


\ 


I 


I 


WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN  69 

carried  out  into  the  light  of  God's  face,  and  my 
grave  clothes  were  taken  off  one  by  one  as  Janet 
would  unwind  my  plaid,  and  I  stood  a  living  man 
before  Christ. 

"It  wass  a  sweet  June  day  as  we  drove  home, 
and  I  lay  in  sunshine,  and  every  bird  that  sang! 
and  the  burnies  by  the  roadside,  and  the  rustling 
of  the  birch  leaves  in  the  wind-oh  yes,  and  the 
sound  of  the  horse's  feet  were  saying, '  Loose  him 
and  let  him  go.' 

"Loch  Tay  looked  black  angry  as  we  came  by 
its  side  in  the  morning,  and  I  said  to  Janet : 

"'It  iss  the  Dead  Sea.  and  I  shall  be  as  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah ' ;  but  in  the  evening  it  wass  as  a 
sea  of  glass  mingled  with  fire,  and  I  heard  the 
song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb  sweeping  over  the 
Loch,  but  this  wass  still  the  sweetest  word  to  me, 
•  Loose  him  and  let  him  go.' " 


s^.;* 


H' 


•  .! 


'/ 


11 

AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND 
POWERS 

The  powers  of  darkness  had  been   making  a 
dead  set  upon   Donald  all    winter,  and  towards 
spring  he  began  to  lose  hope.     He  came  to  the 
Cottage  once  a  week  with  news  from  the  seat  of 
war,   and    I    could    distinguish    three    zones   of 
depression.      Within    the    first  he    bewailed   his 
inveterate    attachment    to    this    world,   and   his 
absolute  indifference  to  spiritual  things,  and  was 
content  to  describe  himself  as  Achan,     The  sign 
that  he  had  entered  the  second  was  a  recurring 
reference   to    apostacy,  and   then   you   had   the 
melancholy   satisfaction    of    meeting    the   living 
representative  of  Simon  Peter.     When  he  passed 
into  the  last  zone  of  the  Purgatorio,  Donald  was 
beyond  speech,  and  simply  allowed  one  to  gather 


II 


V   '  1 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS   71 

from  allusions  to  thirty  pieces  of  silver  that  he 
was  Judas  Iscariot. 

So  long  as  it  was  only  Achan  or  Simon  Peter 
that  came  to  sit  with  me,  one  was  not  gravely 
concerned,  but  Judas  Iscariot  meant  that  Donald 
had  entered  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 

He  made  a  spirited  rally  at  the  Winter 
Sacrament,  and  distinguished  himself  greatly  on 
the  evening  of  the  Fast  day.  Being  asked  to 
pray,  as  a  recognition  of  comparative  cheerfulness, 
Donald  continued  for  five  and  twenty  minutes, 
and  unfolded  the  works  of  the  Devil  in  such 
minute  and  vivid  detail  that  Burnbrae  talks  about 
it  to  this  day,  and  Lachlan  Campbell,  although 
an  expert  in  this  department,  confessed  astonish- 
ment. It  was  a  mighty  wrestle,  and  it  was 
perhaps  natural  that  Donald  should  groan  heavily 
at  regular  intervals,  and  acquaint  the  meeting 
how  the  conflict  went,  but  the  younger  people 
were  much  shaken,  and  the  edification  even  of 
the  serious  was  not  without  reserve. 

While  Donald  still  lingered  on  the  field  of 
battle  to  gather  the  spoils  and  guard  against  any 
sudden  return  of  the  enemy,  the  ciders   had  a 


t  n 


hr 


!|l 


l^m 


V-'k 


'li' 


)i 


mr- 


72 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


h'lrried  consultation  in  the  vestry,  and  Burnbrae 
put  the  position  with  admirable  force. 

"Naebody  can  deny  that  it  wes  a  maist 
extraordinary  prayer,  and  it  passes  me  hoo  he 
kens  sae  muckle  aboot  the  Deevil.  In  fac'  it's 
a  preevilege  tae  hae  sic  an  experienced  hand 
among  us,  and  I  vvudna  offend  Donald  Menzies 
for  onything.  But  yon  groanin'  wes  a  wee  thingie 
discomposin',  and  when  he  said,  kind  o'  con- 
fidential, *  He's  losing  his  grup,'  ma  ain  fouk 
cudna  keep  their  coontenance.  Weel,  I  wes 
thinkin'  that  the  best  plan  wud  be  for  Maister 
Campbell  juist  tae  give  a  bit  advice  and  tell 
Donald  that  we're  thankfu'  to  hear  him  at  the 
meeting,  and  michty  lifted  wi'  his  peteetions,  but 
it  wud  be  an  obleegation  gin  he  wud  leave  oot 
the  groans  and  tell  us  aifterwarua  what  wes  gaein' 
on,  maybe  in  the  Session." 

Lachlan  accepted  his  commission  with  quite 
unusual  diffidence,  and  offered  a  veiy  free  trans- 
lation on  the  way  home. 

"  It  wass  a  mercy  to  hef  you  at  the  meeting 
this  night,  Donald  Menzies,  for  I  saw  that  Satan 
had  come  in  great  strength,  and  it  iss  not  every 


J 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS   73 

man  that  can  withstand  him.  But  you  will  not 
be  ignorant  of  his  devices ;  oh  no,  you  will  be 
knowing  them  fery  well.  Satan  had  not  much 
to  say  before  the  prayer  wass  done,  and  I  will 
not  be  expecting  to  see  him  again  at  this  occasion. 
It  wass  the  elders  1,  'Donald  Menzies  hass 
tranipled  Satan  unuei  foot'  Oh  yes,  and  fery 
glad  men  they  were,  for  it  iss  not  given  to  them. 
But  I  would  be  thinking  iss  it  good  to  let  the 
Devil  hear  you  groaning  in  the  battle,  and  I 
would  be  wishing  that  you  had  kept  all  your 
groans  and  given  them  to  me  on  the  road." 

"  Iss  it  the  groans  you  are  not  liking  ? " 
retorted  Donald,  stung  by  this  unexpected  criti- 
cism. "And  what  iss  wrong  with  groaning? 
But  1  hef  the  Scripture,  and  I  will  not  be  caring 
what  you  say,  Lachlan  Campbell." 

"  If  you  hef  a  warrant  for  groaning,  it  iss  this 
man  that  will  be  glad  to  hear  it,  for  I  am  not 
remembering  that  passage." 

"  Maybe  you  hef  not  read  *  Maketh  intercession 
with  groanings,*  but  it  iss  a  fery  good  Scripture, 
and  it  iss  in  my  Bible." 

"  All  Scripture  iss  good,  Donald  Menzies,  but 


i 


^ 


»  III  ,mimiiii.ij  : 


:T""  -K  "^  '        Syj*!^"''' 


'_.>.i  ""^i.  <j»w*i)jw*\''-,r  ■\-  »!■'- 


i 


74 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


m 


t 


ifi' 


Ki; 


it  iss  not  lawful  to  divide  Scripture,  and  it  will 
read  in  my  Bible,  'groanings  which  cannot  be 
uttered,'  and  I  wass  saying  this  would  be  the 
best  way  with  your  groans." 

Donald  came  in  to  tell  me  how  his  companion 
in  arms  had  treated  him,  and  was  still  sore. 

"  He  iss  in  the  bondage  of  the  letter  these  days, 
for  he  will  be  always  talking  about  Moses  with 
the  minister,  and  I  am  not  hearing  that  iss  good 
for  the  soul." 

If  even  Lachlan  could  not  attain  to  Donald,  it 
was  perhapp,  no  discredit  that  the  Drumtochty 
mind  wa.s  at  times  hopelessly  perplexed. 

"  He's  a  gude  cratur  and  terrible  gifted  in 
prayer,"  Netherton  explained  to  B'arnb»-ue  after 
a  prayer-meeting,  when  Donald  had  temporarily 
abandoned  Satan  and  given  himself  to  auto- 
Ijiography,  "  but  yon  wesna  a  verra  ceevil  way  to 
speak  aboot  his  faither  and  mither." 

"  A'  doot  yir  imaginin',  Netherton.  Donald 
never  mentioned  his  fouk  the  nicht,  and  it's  no 
likely  he  wud  in  the  prayer-meeting." 

"  There's  nae  imaginin'  aboot  it ;  a'  heard  him 
wi*  ma  ain  ears  say  twice,  'My  father  was  an 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS   75 

Amorite,  and  my  mother  a  Hittite.*  I'll  take  my 
aith  on  it.  Noo,  a'  dinna  ken  Donald's  forbears 
masel,  for  he's  frae  Tayside,  but  supposin'  they 
were  as  bad  as  bad  cud  be,  it's  no  for  him  to 
blacken  his  ain  blood,  and  him  an  Elder." 

"  Toots,  Nethcrton,  yir  aff  it  a'  thcgithcr.  Div 
ye  no  see  yon's  Bible  langidge  oot  o'  a  Prophet, 
or  maybe  Kings,  and  Donald  wes  usin't  in  a 
feegurative  capaucity  ?  " 

"  Feegurative  or  no  feegurative,  Burnbrae,  it 
disna  maitter;  its  a  peetifu' job  howking  (digging) 
thro'  the  Bible  for  ill  words  tae  misca  yir  fouk 
wi'  afore  the  public." 

Burnbrae  gave  up  the  contest  in  despair,  feeling 
himself  that  Old  Testament  allusions  were  risky, 
and  that  Donald's  quotation  was  less  than  felicitous. 

Donald's  prayers  were  not  known  outside  ihe 
Free  Kirk  circle,  but  his  encounters  with  tb^  evil 
one  were  public  property,  and  caused  a  general 
shudder.  Drumtochty  was  never  sure  who  might 
not  be  listening,  and  considered  that  it  was  safer 
not  to  meddle  with  certain  nameless  people.  But 
Donald  waged  an  open  warfare  in  every  corner  of 
the  parish,  in   the  Kirk,  by  the  wayside,  in  his 


w 


*  in 


76 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


,  '■ 


>i: 


li' 


\f 


house,  on  the  road  to  market,  and  was  ready  to 
give  any  one  the  benefit  of  his  experiences. 

"  Donald  Menzies  is  in  yonder,  said  Hillocks, 
pointing  to  the  smithy,  whose  fire  sent  fitful 
gleams  across  the  dark  road,  "  and  he's  carryin' 
on  maist  fearsome.  Ye  wud  think  tae  hear  him 
speak  that  auld  Hornie  wes  gaein'  louse  in  the 
parish ;  it  sent  a  grue  (shiver)  doon  ma  back. 
Faigs,  it's  no  cannie  to  be  muckle  wi'  the  body, 
for  the  Deil  and  P  J  seem  never  separate. 
Hear  him  aoo,  hear  him." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Donald,  addressing  the  smith 
and  two  horror-stricken  ploughmen,  *'  I  hef  seen 
him,  and  he  hass  withstood  me  on  the  road.  It 
wass  late,  and  I  wass  thinking  on  the  shepherd 
and  the  sheep,  and  Satan  will  come  out  from  the 
wood  below  Hillocks'  farm-house  ('  Gude  preserve 
us,'  from  Hillocks)  and  say,  'That  word  is  not 
for  you,  Donald  Menzies.*  But  I  wass  strong 
that  night,  and  I  said, '  Neither  shall  any  pluck 
them  out  of  my  hand,'  and  he  will  not  wait  long 
after  that,  oh  no,  and  I  did  not  follow  him  into 
the  wood." 

The  smith,  released  by  the  conclusion  of  the 


I 

i,«„i 


\:i 


s 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS   77 

tale,  blew  a  mighty  blast,  and  the  fire  burst  into 
a  red  blaze,  throwing  into  relief  the  black  figure 
of  the  smith  and  the  white  faces  of  the  ploughmen  ; 
glancing  from  the  teeth  of  harrows,  and  the 
blades  of  scythes,  and  the  cruel  knives  of  reaping 
machines,  and  from  instruments  with  triple  prongs; 
and  lighting  up  with  a  hideous  glare  the  black 
sooty  recesses  of  the  smithy. 

"  Keep's  a',"  whispered  Hillocks,  clutching  my 
arm,  "  it's  little  better  than  the  ill  place.  I  wish 
to  gudeness  I  wes  safe  in  ma  ain  hoose." 

These  were  only  indecisive  skirmishes,  for  one 
evening  Donald  came  to  my  den  with  despair 
written  on  every  feature,  and  I  knew  that  fighting 
had  begun  at  the  centre,  and  that  he  was  worsted. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  he  became  articulate, 
during  which  time  he  sighed  as  if  the  end  of  all 
things  had  come,  and  I  caught  the  word  scape- 
goat twice,  but  at  last  he  told  me  that  he  had 
resigned  his  eldership,  and  would  absent  himself 
in  future  from  the  Free  Kirk. 

"  It  hass  been  a  weary  winter  when  minister 
and  people  hef  gone  into  captivity,  and  on 
Sabbath  the  word  wass  taken  altogether  from  the 


ti 


78 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


■  1"  "i 


if 


Rf 


ininistcr's  mouth,  and  he  spake  a  language  which 
we  understood  not  [it  was  the  first  of  three 
sermons  on  the  Hexateuch,  and  had  treated  of  the 
Jehovistic  and  Elohistic  documents  with  much 
learning],  and  I  will  be  asking  all  the  way  back, 
•Issit  I?'     'Issit  I?' 

"  Oh  yes,  and  when  I  opened  my  Bible  this  iss 
the  word  I  will  see,  *  That  thou  doest  do  quickly,' 
and  i  knew  it  wass  my  sins  that  had  brought 
great  judgments  on  the  people,  and  turned  the 
minister  into  a  man  of  stammering  lips  and 
another  tongue. 

"  It  wass  a  mercy  thp.t  the  roof  did  not  fall  and 
bury  all  the  people  with  me ;  but  we  will  not 
be  tempting  the  Almighty,  for  I  hef  gone 
outside,  and  now  there  will  be  peace  and 
blessing." 

When  we  left  the  lighted  room  and  stood  on 
the  doorstep,  Donald  pointed  to  the  darkness. 
"  There  iss  no  star,  and  you  will  be  remembering 
what  John  saw  when  the  door  opened  and  Judas 
went  out.  *  It  wass  night  * — oh  yes,  it  iss  night 
for  me,  but  it  will  be  light  for  them." 

As   weeks   went   past,  and   Donald    was  seen 


i     ;<  . 


! 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS   79 

neither  at  Kirk  nor  market,  my  heart  went  out 
to  the  lonely  man  in  his  soul  conflict,  and,  although 
there  was  no  help  in  me,  I  went  to  ask  how  it 
fared  with  him.  After  the  footpath  disentangled 
itself  from  the  pine  woods  and  crossed  the  burn 
by  two  fir  trees  nailed  together,  it  climbed  a 
steep  ascent  to  Donald's  house,  but  I  had  barely 
touched  the  foot,  when  I  saw  him  descending, 
his  head  in  the  air,  and  his  face  shining.  Before 
any  words  passed,  I  knew  that  the  battle  had 
been  fought  and  won. 

"  It  wass  last  night,  and  I  will  be  coming  to 
tell  you.  Satan  hass  ^one  like  darkness  when 
the  sen  ariseth,  and  1  hef  been  delivered." 

Tht-re  arc  stories  one  cannot  hear  sitting,  and 
so  we  pdced  the  meadow  below,  rich  in  primroses, 
with  a  sloping  bank  of  gorse  behind  us,  and  the 
pines  before  us,  and  the  water  breaking  ovv:r  the 
stones  at  our  feet. 

"  It  iss  three  weeks  since  I  saw  you,  and  all 
that  time  I  •ef  been  wandering  on  the  hill  by 
day,  and  lying  in  the  barn  at  night,  for  it  wass 
not  good  to  be  with  people,  and  Satan  wass 
always  saying  to  me,  Judas  went  to  'his  own 


,iM 


WM\ 


I' 


! 


^m. 


'    I 


80 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 


place.'  My  dog  will  lay  his  head  on  my  knee, 
and  be  sorry  for  me,  and  the  dumb  animals  will 
be  looking  at  me  out  of  their  great  eyes,  and  be 
moaning. 

"The  lads  are  good  singers,  and  there  wass 
always  a  sound  of  Psalms  on  the  farm,  oh  yes, 
and  it  was  pleasant  to  come  from  the  market  and 
hear  the  Psalms  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  It  wass 
like  going  up  to  Jerusalem.  But  there  would 
be  no  Psalms  these  days,  for  the  lads  could  not 
sing  when  their  father's  soul  wass  going  down 
into  the  pit. 

"  Oh  no,  and  there  wass  no  prayer  last  night, 
but  I  told  the  lads  to  go  to  bed,  and  I  lay 
down  before  the  fire  to  wrestle  once  more  before 
I  perished. 

"Janet  will  offer  this  word  and  the  other,  and 
I  will  be  trying  them  all,  but  Satan  wass  tearing 
them  away  as  quick  as  I  could  speak,  and  he 
always  said,  •  his  own  place.' 

"ISbtxc  iss  no  hope  for  me,  I  cried,  but  it  iss  a 
mercy  that  you  and  the  lads  will  be  safe  in  the 
City,  and  mayNe  the  Lord  will  let  me  see  you  all 
through  the  gate.     And  that  wass  lifting  me,  but 


I  I 


I' -I 


i 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS   8i 

then  I  will  hear  '  his  own  place/  *  his  own  place/ 
and  my  heart  began  to  fail,  and  I  wass  nigh  to 
despair. 

"  Then  I  heard  a  voice,  oh  yes,  as  plain  as  you 
are  hearing  me,  'The  blood  of  Jesis  Christ,  His 
Son,  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin.'  It  wass  like  a 
gleam  from  the  Mercy-seat,  but  I  would  be 
waiting  to  see  whether  Satan  had  any  answer, 
and  my  heart  was  standing  still.  But  there 
wass  no  word  from  him,  not  one  word.  Then 
I  leaped  to  my  feet  and  cried, '  Get  thee  behind 
me,  Satan/  and  I  will  look  round,  and  there 
wass  no  one  to  be  seen  but  Janet  in  her  chair, 
with  the  tears  on  her  cheeks,  and  she  wass 
saying,  'Thanks  be  to  God,  .hich  givcth  us  the 
victory  through  our  Ixyrd  Jesus  Christ.' 

"The  lads  were  not  sleeping  fery  sound  when 
their  father  was  fighting  for  his  life,  oh  no,  and  I 
am  not  saying  but  maybe  they  would  be  praying. 
It  wass  not  fery  long  before  they  came  down, 
and  Hamish  will  be  looking  at  my  face,  and 
then  he  will  get  the  books,  and  this  iss  the 
Psalm  we  sang — 


f 


4i 


T 


1  ^ 


1  i 


8»  A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC 

'*  I  love  the  Ix)r<l,  because  my  voice 

And  prayers  He  did  hear. 
I,  while  I  live,  will  call  on  Him, 

Who  bowed  to  me  His  ear. 
•  •  •  •  • 

God  merciful  and  righteous  Is, 

Yea,  gracious  is  our  Lord  ; 
God  saves  the  meek ;  I  was  brought  low, 

He  did  me  help  afford." 

This  was  the  victory  of  Donald  Menzies,  and 
on  reaching  home  I  marked  that  the  early  roses 
were  beginning  to  bloom  over  the  door  through 
which  Donald  had  gone  out  into  the  darkness. 


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HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


He  was  an  ingenuous  lad,  with  the  callow 
simplicity  of  a  theological  college  still  untouched, 
and  had  arrived  on  the  preceding  Monday  at  the 
Free  Kirk  manse  with  four  cartloads  of  furniture 
and  a  maiden  aunt  For  three  days  he  roamed 
from  room  to  room  in  the  excitement  of  house- 
holding,  and  made  suggestions  which  were  received 
with  hilarious  contempt ;  then  he  shut  himself  up 
in  his  study  to  prepare  the  great  sermon,  and  his 
aunt  went  about  on  tiptoe.  During  meals  on 
Friday  he  explained  casually  that  his  own  wish 
was  to  preach  a  simpie  sermon,  and  that  he  would 
have  done  so  had  he  been  a  private  individual, 
but  as  he  had  held  the  MacWhammel  scholarship 
a  deliverance  was  expected  by  the  country.  He 
would  be  careful  and  say  nothing  rash,  but  it  was 
due  to  himself  to  state  the  present  position  of 


'■JSim"IUl-"WW!l 


86 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


I 


theological  thought,  and  he  might  have  to  quote 
once  or  twice  from  Ewald. 

His  aunt  was  a  saint,  with  that  firm  grasp  of 
truth,  and  tender  mysticism,  whose  combination 
is  the  charm  of  Scottish  piety,  and  her  face  was 
t/oubled.  While  the  minister  was  speaking  in 
his  boyish  complacency,  her  thoughts  were  in  a 
room  where  they  had  both  stood,  five  years  before, 
by  the  death-bed  of  his  mother. 

He  was  broken  that  day,  and  his  sobs  shook 
the  bed,  for  he  was  his  mother's  only  son  and 
fatherless,  and  his  mother,  brave  and  faithful  to 
the  last,  was  bidding  him  farewell. 

"  Dinna  greet  like  that,  John,  nor  break  yir 
hert,  for  it's  the  will  o'  God,  and  that's  aye  best." 

"  Here's  my  watch  and  chain,"  placing  them 
beside  her  son,  who  could  not  touch  theai,  nor 
would  lift  his  head,  "  and  when  ye  feel  the  chain 
about  yir  neck  it  will  mind  ye  o'  yir  mother's  arms." 

"Ye  'ill  no  forget  me,  John,  I  ken  that  weel, 
and  I'll  never  forget  you.  I've  loved  ye  here 
and  I'll  love  ye  yonder.  Th'ill  no  be  an  'oor 
when  I'll  no  pray  for  ye,  and  I'll  ken  better  what 
to  ask  than  I  did  here,  sae  dinna  be  comfortless." 


*fl 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON  87 

Then  she  felt  for  his  head  and  stroked  it  once 
more,  but  he  could  not  look  nor  speak. 

"  Ye  'ill  follow  Clirist,  and  gin  He  offers  ye  His 
cross  ye  '11  no  refuse  it,  for  He  aye  carries  the 
I  heavy  end  Himsel'.    He's  guided  yir  mother  a' 

thae  years,  and  been  as  gude  as  a  husband  since 
yir  father's  death,  and  He  'ill  hold  me  fast  tae  the 
end.  He  'ill  keep  ye  too,  and,  John,  I'll  be 
watchin'  for  ye.  Ye'ill  no  fail  me,"  and  her  poor 
cold  hand  that  had  tended  him  all  his  days 
tightened  on  his  head. 

But  he  could  not  speak,  and  her  voice  was 
failing  fast. 

"I  canna  see  ye  noo,  John,  but  I  know  yir 
there,  an'  I've  just  one  other  wish.  If  God  calls 
ye  to  the  ministry,  ye  'ill  no  refuse,  an'  the  first 
day  ye  preach  in  yir  ain  kirk,  speak  a  gude  word 
for  Jesus  Christ,  an',  John,  I'll  hear  ye  that  day, 
though  ye'ill  no  see  me,  and  I'll  be  satisfied." 

A  minute  after  she  whispered,  "  Pray  for  me," 
and  he  cried,  "  My  mother,  my  mother." 

It  was  a  full  prayer,  and  left  nothing  unasked 
of  Mary's  Son. 

"John,"  said  his  aunt,  "your  mother  is  with 


I    !. 


I 


88 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


■^:i 


w 


the  Lord,"  and  he  saw  death  for  the  first  time 
but  it  was  beautiful  with  the  peace  that  passeth 
all  understanding. 

Five  years  had  passed,  crowded  with  thought 
and  work,  and  his  aunt  wondered  whether  he 
remembered  that  last  request,  or  indeed  had 
heard  it  in  his  sorrow. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  aunt?  Are 
you  afraid  of  my  theology  ?  " 

"  No,  John,  it's  no  that,  laddie,  for  I  ken  ye  'ill 
say  what  ye  believe  to  be  true  withoot  fear  o* 
man,"  and  she  hestitated. 

"  Come,  out  with  it,  auntie :  you're  my  only 
mother  now,  you  know,"  and  the  minister  put 
his  arm  round  her,  "as  well  as  the  kindest, 
bonniest,  goodest  auntie  ever  man  had." 

Below  his  student  self-conceit  he  was  a  good 
lad,  and  sound  of  heart. 

"  Shame  on  you,  John,  to  make  a  fool  o'  an  auld 
dime  body,  but  ye  '11  no  come  round  me  with  yir 
flattery.  1  ken  ye  owcr  weel,"  and  as  she  caught 
the  likeness  in  his  face,  her  eyes  filled  suddenly. 

"  What's  the  matter,  auntie  ?  Will  ye  no  tell 
me?" 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


89 


" Dinna  be  angry  wi'  me,  John,  but  am  con- 
cemed  aboot  Sabbath,  for  a've  been  prayin"-  ever 
syne  ye  were  called  to  Drumtochty  that  it  micht 
be  a  great  day,  and  that  I  micht  see  ye  comin' 
tae  yir  people,  laddie,  wi'  the  beauty  o'  the  Lord 
upon  ye,  according  tae  the  auld  prophecy  :  ♦  How 
beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of 
him  that  bringeth  good  tidings,  that  publisheth 
peace,' "  and  again  she  stopped. 

"  Go  on,  auntie,  go  on,"  he  whispered ;  "  say  all 
that's  in  yir  mind." 

"  It's  no  for  me  tae  advise  ye,  who  am  only  a 
simple  auld  woman,  who  ken's  naethin'  but  her 
Bible  and  cne  Catechism,  and  it's  no  that  a'm 
feared  for  the  new  views,  or  aboot  yir  faith,  for 
I  aye  mind  that  there's  mony  things  the  Speerit 
hes  still  tae  teach  us,  and  I  ken  weel  the  man 
that  follows  Christ  will  never  lose  his  way  in 
ony  thicket.  But  it's  the  fouk,  John,  a'm  anxious 
aboot,  the  flock  o'  sheep  the  Lord  hes  given  ye 
tae  feed  for  Him." 

She  could   not  see  his   face,  but  she  felt  him 
gently  press  her  hand,  and  took  courage. 

"  Ye  maun  mind,  laddie,  that  they're  no  clever 


[!f 


90 


HIS  MOIHER'S  SERMON 


and  learned  like  what  ye  are,  but  juist  plain 
country  fouk,  ilka  ane  wi'  his  ain  temptation,  an* 
a'  sair  trachled  wi'  mony  cares  o'  this  world. 
They  'ill  need  a  clear  word  tae  comfort  their 
herts  and  show  them  the  way  everlasting.  Ye 
'ill  say  what's  richt,  nae  doot  o'  that,  and  a'body 
'ill  be  pleased  wi'  ye,  but,  oh,  laddie,  be  sure  ye 
say  a  gude  word  for  Jesus  Christ." 

The  minister's  face  whitened,  and  his  arm 
relaxed.  He  rose  hastily  and  went  to  the  door, 
but  in  going  out  he  gave  his  aunt  an  under- 
standing look,  such  as  passes  between  people 
who  have  stood  together  in  a  sorrow.  The  son 
had  not  forgotten  his  mother's  request. 

The  manse  garden  lies  toward  the  west,  and  as 
the  minister  paced  its  little  square  of  turf, 
sheltered  by  fir  hedges,  the  sun  was  going  down 
behind  the  Grampians.  Black  massy  clouds  had 
begun  to  gather  in  the  evening,  and  threatened 
to  obscure  the  sunset,  which  was  the  finest  sight 
a  Drumtochty  man  was  ever  likely  to  see,  and 
a  means  of  grace  to  every  sensible  heart  in  the 
glen.  But  the  sun  had  beat  back  the  clouds  on 
either  side,  and  shot  them  through  with  glory 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON  91 

and  now  between  piled  billows  of  light  he  went 
along  a  shining  pathway  into  the  Gates  of  the 
West.       The    minister    stood    still    before    that 
spectacle,  his  face  bathed  in  the  golden   glory, 
and  then  before  his  eyes  the  gold  deepened  into 
an  awful  red,  and  the  red  passed  into  shades  of 
violet  and   green,  beyond   painter's  hand  or  the 
imagination  of  man.     It  seemed  to  him  as  if  a 
victorious  saint  had  entered    through   the  gates 
into  the  city,  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb, 
and    the    after-glow    of    his    mother's    life    fell 
solemnly  on  his  soul.     The  last  trace  of  sunset 
had    faded    from    the    hills    when    the    minister 
came  in,  and  his  face  was  of  one  who  had  seen 
a  vision.      Me  asked  his  aunt  to  have  worship 
with  the   servant,  for  he  must  be  alone   in   his 
study. 

It  was  a  cheerful  room  in  the  daytime,  with  its 
southern  window,  through  which  the  minister  saw 
the  roses  touching  the  very  glass  and  dwarf  apple 
trees  lining  the  garden  walks  ;  there  was  also  a 
western  window  that  he  might  watch  each  day  close. 
It  was  a  pleasant  room  now,  when  the  curtains  were 
drawn,  and  the  light  of  the  lamp  fell  on  the  books 


92 


HIS  mothp:r's  sermon 


ill 


1^" 


he  loved,  and  which  bade  him  welcome.  One  by 
one  he  had  arranged  the  hard-bought  treasures  of 
student  days  in  the  little  book-case,  and  had 
planned  for  himself  that  sweetest  of  pleasures,  un 
evening  of  desultory  reading.  lUit  his  books 
went  out  of  mind  as  he  looked  at  the  sermon 
shining  beneath  the  glare  of  the  lamp,  and 
demanding  judgment.  He  had  finished  its  last 
page  with  honest  pride  that  afternoon,  and  had 
declaimed  it,  facing  the  southern  window,  with  a 
success  that  amazed  himself.  His  hope  was  th.it 
he  might  be  kept  humble,  and  not  called  to  Edin- 
burgh for  at  least  two  years  ;  and  now  he  lifted 
the  sheets  with  fear.  The  brilliant  opening,  with 
its  historical  parallel,  this  review  of  modern 
thought  reinforced  by  telling  quotations,  that 
trenchant  criticism  of  old-fashioned  views,  would 
not  deliver.  For  the  audience  had  vanished,  and 
left  one  careworn,  but  ever  beautiful  face,  whose 
gentle  eyes  were  waiting  with  a  yearning  look. 
Twice  he  crushed  the  sermon  in  his  hands,  and 
turned  to  the  fire  his  aunt's  care  had  kindled,  and 
twice  he  repented  and  smoothed  it  out.  What 
else  could  he  say  now  to  the  people  ?  and  then 


If:  1-1 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON  93 

in  the  stillness  of  the  room  he  heard    a  voice, 
"  Speak  a  gude  word  for  Jesus  Christ." 

Next  minute  he  was  kneeh'ng  on  the  hearth, 
and  pressing  the  magrum  opus,  that  was  to  sliake 
;  Drumtochty,  into  the  heart  of  the  red  fire,  and  he 
saw,  half-smih'ngand  half-weeping,  the  impressive 
words,  "Semitic  environment,"  shrivel  up  and 
disappear.  As  the  ]ast  black  Hake  fluttered 
out  of  sight,  the  face  looked  at  him  again,  but  this 
time  the  sweet  brown  eyes  were  full  of  peace. 

It  was  no  masterpiece,  but  only  the  crude 
production  of  a  lad  who  knew  little  of  letters 
and  nothing  of  the  world.  Very  likely  it  would 
have  done  neither  harm  nor  good,  but  it  was  his 
best,  and  he  gave  it  for  love's  sake,  and  I  suppose 
that  there  is  nothing  in  a  human  life  so  precious  to 
God,  neither  clever  words  nor  famous  deeds,  as 
the  sacrifices  of  love. 

The  moon  flooded  his  bedroom  with  silver 
light,  and  he  felt  the  presence  of  his  mother.  His 
bed  stood  ghostly  with  its  white  curtains,  and  he 
remembered  how  every  night  his  mother  knelt  by 
its  side  in  prayer  for  him.  He  is  a  boy  once  more, 
and  repeats  the  Lord's  Prayer,  then  he  cries  again,' 


94 


HIS  MOrilKk'S  SERMON 


h    V 


'I; 


1    «  I 


"  My  mother!  my  mother!"  cind  an  itidescribabie 
contentment  fills  his  heart. 

His  prayer  next  morning  was  very  short,  but 
afterwards  he  stood  at  the  window  for  a  space, 
and  when  he  turned,  his  aunt  said  : 

"  Ye  will  get  yir  sermon,  and  it  will  be  worth 
hearing." 

'  How  did  ye  know  ?  " 

But  she  only  smiled,  "  I  heard  you  pray." 

When  he  shut  himself  into  the  study  that  Satur- 
day morning,  his  aunt  went  into  her  room  above, 
and  he  knew  she  had  gone  to  intercede  for  him. 

An  hour  afterwards  he  was  pacing  the  garden 
in  such  anxious  thought  that  he  crushed  with  his 
foot  a  rose  lying  on  the  path,  and  then  she  saw 
his  face  suddenly  lighten,  and  he  hurried  to  the 
house,  but  first  he  plucked  a  bunch  of  forget-me- 
nots.  In  the  evening  she  found  them  on  his 
sermon. 

Two  hours  later — for  still  she  prayed  and 
watched  in  faithfulness  to  mother  and  son — she 
observed  him  come  out  and  wander  round  the 
garden  in  great  joy.  He  lifted  up  the  soiled  rose 
and  put  it  in  his  coat ;  he  released  a  butterfly 


;i  i  i 


I 


HIS  MOTMKR'S  SERMON 


95 


caught  in  some  mesh  ;  he  buried  his  face  in 
fragrant  honeysuckle.  Then  she  understood  that 
his  heart  was  full  of  love,  and  was  sure  that  it 
would  be  well  on  the  morrow. 

When  the  bell  began  to  ring,  the  minister  rose 
from  his  knees  and  went  to  his  aunt's  room  to  be 
robed,  for  this  was  a  covenant  between  them. 

His  gown  was  spread  out  in  its  black  silken 
glory,  but  he  sat  down  in  despair. 

"  Auntie,  whatever  shall  we  do,  for  I've  forgotten 
the  bands  ? " 

"  But  I've  not  forgot  them,  John,  ana  here  are 
six  y  W  wrought  with  my  own  hands,  and  now  sit 
still  and  I'll  tie  them  round  my  laddie's  neck." 

When  she  had  given  the  last  touch,  and  he  was 
ready  to  go,  a  sudden  seriousness  fell  upon  them. 

*'  Kiss  me,  auntie." 

"  For  your  mother,  and  her  God  be  with  you," 
and  then  he  went  through  the  garden  and  under- 
neath the  honeysuckle  and  into  the  kirk,  where 
every  Free  Churchman  in  Drumtochty  that  could 
get  out  of  bed,  and  half  the  Established  Kirk,  were 
waiting  in  expectation. 

I  sat  with  his  aunt  in  the  minister's  pew,  and 


fi^ref  1 


,»ii 


^'1 

Mvi 

'  'f^'^'l 

,||::1 

?:!tr* 

kl 

^•f  \ 


96 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


;*  i 


shall  always  be  glad  that  I  was  at  that  service. 
When  winter  lies  heavy  upon  the  glen  I  go  upon 
my  travels,  and  in  my  time  have  seen  many 
religious  functions.  I  have  been  in  Mr  Spurfecn's 
Tabernacle,  where  the  people  v/ept  one  minute 
and  laughed  the  next ;  have  heard  Canon  Liddon 
in  St.  Paul's,  and  the  sound  of  that  high,  clear 
voice  is  still  with  me,  "  Awake,  awake,  put  on  thy 
strength,  O  Zion " ;  have  seen  High  Mass  in 
St.  Peter's,  and  s^ood  in  the  dusk  of  the  Duomo 
at  Florence  when  Padre  Agoptino  thundered 
against  the  evils  of  the  day.  But  I  never  realised 
the  unseen  world  as  I  did  that  day  in  the  Free 
Kirk  of  DruHitochty. 

It  is  impossible  to  analyse  a  spiritual  effect, 
because  it  is  largely  an  atmosphere,  but  certain 
circumstances  assisted.  One  was  instantly  pre- 
possessed in  favour  of  a  young  minister  who  gave 
out  the  second  paraphrase  at  his  first  service,  for 
ii  declared  his  filial  reverence  and  won  for  him 
the  blessing  of  a  cloud  of  witnesses.  No  Scottish 
man  can  ever  sing, 

"  God  of  oiT  fathers,  be  the  God 
Of  their  succocumg  race," 


I! 


ih 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


97 


with  a  dry  heart.  It  satisfied  me  at  once  that 
the  minister  was  of  a  fine  temper  when,  after  a 
brave  attempt  to  join,  he  hid  his  face  and  was 
silent.  We  thought  none  the  worse  of  him  that 
he  was  nervous,  and  two  or  three  old  people  who 
had  suspected  self-sufficiency  took  him  to  their 
hearts  when  the  minister  concluded  the  Lord's 
prayer  hurriedly,  having  omitted  two  petitions. 
But  we  knew  it  was  not  nervousnc^ss  which  made 
him  pause  for  ten  seconds  after  praying  for 
widows  and  orphans,  and  in  the  silence  which 
fell  upon  us  the  Divine  Spirit  had  free  access. 
His  youth  commended  him,  since  he  was  also 
modest,  for  every  moiher  had  come  with  an 
inarticulate  prayer  that  the  *'  puir  laddie  wud  dae 
weel  on  his  first  day,  and  him  only  twenty-four." 
Texts  I  can  never  remember,  nor,  for  that  matter, 
the  words  of  sermons  ;  but  the  subject  was  Jesus 
Christ,  and  before  he  had  spoken  five  minutes 
I  was  coiivinced,  who  am  outside  dogmas  and 
churches,  that  Christ  was  present.  The  preacher 
faded  from  before  one's  eyes,  and  there  rose  the 
figure  of  the  Nazarene,  best  lover  of  every  human 
soul,  with  a  face  of  tender  patience  such  as  Sarto 


i 


;'] 


u 


iff 

if 

(i 

V  |K^' 

<i ." 

iff 

IP 

h 

BB 


98 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


jf/    3,11 


I-  '^^f.    f 


iii 


gave  the  Master  in  the  Church  of  the  Annunziata, 
and  stretching  out  His  hands  to  old  folk  and 
little  children  as  He  did,  before  His  death,  in 
Galilee.  His  voice  might  be  heard  any  moment, 
as  I  have  imagined  it  in  my  lonely  hours  by  the 
winter  fire  or  on  the  solitary  hills — soft,  low,  and 
sweet,  penetrating  like  music  to  the  secret  of  the 
heart,  '*  Come  unto  Me  .  .  .  and  I  will  give  you 
rest." 

During  a  pause  in  the  sermon  I  glanced  up  the 
church,  and  saw  the  same  spell  held  the  people. 
Donald  Mcnzies  had  long  ago  been  caught  into  the 
third  heaven,  and  was  now  hearing  words  which  it 
is  not  lawful  to  utter.  Campbell  in  his  watch-tower 
at  the  back  had  closed  his  eyes,  and  was  praying. 
The  women  were  weeping  quietly,  and  the  rugged 
faces  of  ou."  men  were  subdued  and  softened, 
as  when  the  evening  sun  plays  on  the  granite 
stone. 

But  v/hat  will  stand  out  for  ever  before  my 
mind  was  the  sight  of  Marget  Howe.  Her  face 
was  as  white  as  death,  and  her  wonderful  grey 
eyes  were  shining  through  a  mist  of  tears,  so  that 
I  caught  the  light  in  the  manse  pew.     She  was 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


99 


thinking  of  George,  and  had  taken  the  minister 
to  her  heart. 

The  elders,  one  by  one,  gripped  the  minister's 
hand  in  the  vestry,  and,  though  plain,  homely 
men,  they  were  the  godliest  in  the  glen  ;  but  no 
man  spoke  save  Burnbrae. 

"  I  a'  but  lost  ae  fairm  for  the  Free  Kirk,  and 
I  wud  hae  lost  ten  tae  be  in  the  Kirk  this  day." 

Donald  walked  with  me  homewards,  but  would 
only  say : 

"  There  was  a  man  sent  from  God  whose  name 
was  John."  At  the  cottage  he  added,  "The 
friend  of  the  bridegroom  rejoiced  greatly  because 
of  the  bridegroom's  voice." 

Beneath  the  honeysuckle  at  his  garden  gate  a 
woman  was  waiting. 

"  My  name  is  Marget  Howe,  and  I'm  the  wife 
of  William  Howe  of  Whinnie  Knowe.  My  only 
son  wes  preparin'  for  the  ministry,  but  God 
wanted  him  nearly  a  year  syne.  When  ye 
preached  the  Evangel  o'  Jesus  the  day  I  heard 
his  voice,  and  I  loved  you.  Ye  hev  nae  mither 
on  earth,  I  hear,  and  I  hae  nae  son,  and  I  wantit 
tae  say  that  if  ye  ever  wish  tae  speak  to  ony 


il 


'I  !» 


p 


i    r 


100 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON 


woman  as  ye  vvud  tae  yir  mither,  come  tae 
Whinnie  Knowe,  an'  I'll  coont  it  ane  of  the 
Lord's  consolations." 

His  aunt  could  only  meet  him  in  the  study, 
and  when  he  looked  on  her  his  lip  quivered,  for 
his  heart  was  wrung  with  one  wistful  regret. 

"  Oh,  auntie,  if  she  had  only  been  spared  to  see 
this  day,  and  her  prayers  answered." 

But  his  aunt  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Dinna  be  cast  doon,  laddie,  nor  be  unbelievin'. 
Yir  mither  has  heard  every  word,  and  is  satisfied, 
for  ye  did  it  in  remembrance  o'  her,  and  yon  was 
yir  mither's  sermon." 


THE  TRANSFORMATION  OF 
LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


.f  ill. 


lU 


f 


r& 


Ml 

1 

'  if' 

!  ;i 

if 

A  GRAND  INQUISITOR 

The  Free  Kirk  of  Drumtochty  had  no  gallery, 
but  a  section  of  seats  at  the  back  was  raised  two 
feet,  and  any  one  in  the  first  pew  might  be  said 
to  sit  in  the  «  briest  o'  the  laft."     When  Lachlan 
Campbell  arrived  from   the  privileged  parish  of 
Auchindarroch,  where  the  "  Men  "  ruled  with  iron 
hand  and  no  one  shaved  on  Sabbath,  he  examined 
the  lie  of  country  M-ith  the  eye  of  a  strategist,  and 
seized  at  once  a  corner  seat  on  the  crest  of  the 
hill.     From  this  vantage  ground,  with  his  back  to 
the  wall  and  a  clear  space  left  between  himself 
and  his  daughter  Flora,  he  had  an  easy  command 
of  the  pulpit,  and  within   six  months  had  been 
constituted  a  court  of  review  neither  minister  nor 
people  could  lightly  disregard.     It  was  not  that 
Lachlan  .spoke  hastily  or  at  length,  for  his  policy 
was  generally  a  silence  pregnant  with  judgment, 


■f  ^' ;' 


t ' 


1 


104 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


and  his  deliverances  were  for  the  most  part  in 
parables,  none  the  less  awful  because  hard  of 
interpretation.  Like  every  true  Celt,  he  had  the 
power  of  reserve,  and  knew  the  value  of  mystery. 
Mis  voice  must  not  be  heard  in  irresponsible 
gossip  at  the  Kirk  door,  and  he  never  condescended 
to  the  level  of  Mrs.  MacFadyen,  our  recognised 
sermon  taster,  who  criticised  everything  in  the 
technique  of  the  pulpit,  from  the  number  of  heads 
in  a  sermon  to  the  air  with  which  a  probationer 
used  his  pocket-handkerchief  She  lived  in  the 
eye  of  the  public,  and  gave  her  opinions  with  the 
light  heart  of  a  newspaper  writer ;  but  Lachlan 
kept  himself  in  the  shadow  and  wore  a  manner  of 
studied  humility  as  became  the  administrator  of 
the  Holy  Office  in  Drumtochty. 

Lachlan  was  a  little  man,  with  a  spare, 
wiry  body,  iron  grey  hair  and  whiskers  carefully 
arranged,  a  keen,  old-fashioned  face  sharpened  by 
much  spiritual  thinking,  and  eyes  that  looked  at 
you  from  beneath  shaggy  eyebrows  as  from  some 
other  world.  His  face  had  an  irresistible  sugges- 
tion  of  a  Skye  terrier,  the  most  serious  of  animals, 
with  the  hair  reduced,  and   Drumsheugh  carried 


t 


I 


by 


A  GRAND  INQUISITOR 


105 


us  all  with  him  when,  in  a  moment  of  inspiration, 
he  declared  that  "  the  body  looks  as  if  he  hcd  juist 
come  oot  o'  the  Ark,"  He  was  a  shepherd  to 
trade,  and  v  y  faithful  in  all  his  work,  but  his  life 
business  was  theology,  from  Supralapsarianism  in 
Election  to  the  marks  of  faith  in  a  believer's  heart. 
His  library  consisted  of  some  fifty  volumes  of 
ancient  divinity,  and  lay  on  an  old  oak  kist  close 
to  his  hand,  where  he  sat  beside  the  fire  of  a 
winter  night.  When  the  sheep  were  safe  and  Iiis 
day's  labour  was  over,  he  read  by  the  light  of  the 
fire  and  the  "crusie"  (oil  lamp)  overhead,  Witsius 
on  the  Covenants,  or  Rutherford's  "  Christ  Dying," 
or  Bunyan's  "Grace  Abounding,"  or  Owen's  "130th 
Psalm,"  while  the  collies  slept  at  his  feet,  and 
Flora  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  some  bit  of  rustic 
finery.  Worship  was  always  coloured  by  the 
evening's  reading,  but  the  old  man  never  forgot 
to  pray  that  they  both  might  have  a  place  in  the 
everlasting  covenant,  and  that  the  backslidings  of 
Scotland  might  be  healed. 

As  our  inquisitor,  Lachlan  searched  anxiously 
for  sound  doctrine  and  deep  experience,  but  he 
was  not  concerned  about  learning,  and  fluency  he 


£ 


iip^'i 


io6 


I.ACHI.AN  CAMPBELL 


I 

1: 


T.i 


1| 


regarded  with  disgust.  When  a  young  minister 
from  Muirtown  stamped  twice  in  his  prayer  at 
the  Drumtochty  Fast,  and  preached  with  great 
eloquence  from  the  words,  "  And  there  was  no 
more  sea,"  repeating  the  text  at  the  end  of  each 
paragraph,  and  concluding  the  sermon  with  "Lord 
Ullin's  Daughter,"  the  atmosphere  round  Lachlan 
became  electric,  and  no  one  dared  to  speak  to 
him  outside.  He  never  expressed  his  mind  on 
this  melancholy  exhibition,  but  the  following 
Sabbath  he  explained  the  principle  on  which  they 
elected  ministers  at  Auchindarroch,  which  was 
his  standard  of  perfection. 

"  Six  young  men  came,  and  they  did  not  sing 
songs  in  the  pulpit.  Oh  no,  they  preached  fery 
well,  and  I  said  to  Angus  Rain,  *  They  are  all 
goot  lads,  and  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  their 
doctrine.' 

"  Angus  wass  one  of  the  *  Men,'  and  saw  what 
wass  hidden  from  me,  and  he  will  be  saying, 
'  Oh  yes,  they  said  their  lesson  fery  pretty,  but  I 
did  not  see  them  tremble,  Lachlan  Campbell. 
Another  iss  coming,  and  seven  is  a  goot  number.' 

"It  wass  next  Sabbath  that  he  came,  and  he 


-I -I 


I 


A  GRAND  INQUISITOR  107 

wass  a  white  man,  p^iving  out  his  text,  *  Blessed 
are  they  which  arc  called  unto  the  marriage  supper 
of  the  Lamb,'  and  I  wass  thinking  that  the  Lord 
had  laid  too  great  a  burden  on  the  lad,  and  that 
he  could  not  be  fit  for  such  a  work.  It  wass  not 
more  than  ten  minutes  before  he  will  be  trying  to 
tell  us  what  he  wass  seeing,  and  will  not  hcf  the 
words.  He  had  to  go  down  from  the  pulpit  as 
a  man  that  had  been  in  the  heavenly  places  and 
wass  stricken  dumb. 

"  *  It  iss  the  Lord  that  has  put  me  to  shame 
this  day,'  he  said  to  the  elders,  '  and  I  vill 
nefer  show  my  face  again  in  Auchindarroch,  for  I 
ought  not  to  have  meddled  with  things  too  high 
for  me.' 

" '  You  will  show  your  face  here  every  Sabbath,' 
answered  Angus  Bain,  'for  the  Lord  said  unto 
me,  "  Wait  for  the  man  that  trembles  at  the 
Word,  and  iss  not  able  to  speak,  and  it  will  be  a 
sign  unto  you," '  and  i.\  fery  goot  minister  he 
wass,  and  made  the  hypocrites  in  Zion  to  be 
afraid.' 

Lachlan  dealt  tenderly  with  our  young  Free 
Kirk  m-'nister,  for  the  sake  of  his  first  day,  and 


II 


s 


1 


<? 


T 


io8 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


passed  over  some  very  shallow  experience  without 
remark,  but  an  autumn  sermon  roused  him  to 
a  sense  of  duty.  For  some  days  a  storm  of  wind 
and  rain  had  been  stripping  the  leaves  from  the 
trees  and  gathering  them  in  sodden  heaps  upon 
the  ground.  The  miniL^cr  looked  out  on  the 
garden  where  many  holy  thoughts  had  visited  him, 
and  his  heart  sank  like  lead,  for  it  was  desolate, 
and  of  all  its  beauty  there  remained  but  one 
rose  clinging  to  its  stalk,  drenched  and  faded.  It 
seemed  as  if  youth,  with  its  flower  of  promise  and 
hope,  had  been  beaten  down,  and  a  sense  of 
loneliness  fell  on  his  soul.  He  had  no  heart  for 
work,  and  crept  to  bed  broken  and  dispirited. 
During  the  night  the  rain  ceased,  and  the  north 
wind  began  to  blow,  which  cleanses  nature  in 
every  pore,  and  braces  each  true  man  for  his 
battle.  The  morrow  was  one  of  those  glorious 
days  which  herald  winter,  and  as  the  minister 
tramped  along  the  road,  where  the  dry  leaves 
crackled  beneath  his  feet,  and  climbed  to  the 
moor  with  head  on  high,  the  despair  of  yesterday 
vanished.  The  wind  had  ceased,  and  the  glen 
lay  at  his  feet,  distinct  in  the  cold,  clear  air,  from 


;  i- 


lil 


A  GRAND  INQUISITOR 


109 


the  dark  mass  of  pines  that  closed  its  upper  eml 
to  the  swelling  woods  of  oak  and  beech  that  cut 
it  off  from  the  great  Strath.  He  had  received  a 
warm  welcome  from  all  kinds  of  people,  and  now  he 
marked  with  human  sympathy  each  little  home- 
stead with  its  belt  of  firs  against  the  winter's 
storms,  and  its  stackyard  where  the  corn  had  been 
gathered  safe  ;  the  ploughman  and  his  horses 
cutting  brown  ribbons  in  the  bare  stubble  ;  dark 
squares  where  the  potato  stalks  have  withered 
to  the  ground,  and  women  are  raising  the  roots, 
and  here  and  there  a  few  cattle  still  out  in  the 
fields.  Mis  eye  fell  on  the  great  wood  through 
which  he  had  rambled  in  August,  now  one  blaze 
of  colour,  rich  green  and  light  yellow,  with  patches 
of  fiery  red  and  dark  purple.  God  seemed  to 
have  given  him  a  sermon,  and  he  wrote  that 
evening,  like  one  inspired,  on  the  same  parable  of 
nature  Jesus  loved,  with  its  subtle  interpretation 
of  our  sorrows,  joys,  trust,  and  hope.  People  told 
me  that  it  was  a  "  rael  bonnie  sermon,"  and 
that  Netherton  had  forgotten  his  after-sermon 
snuff,  although  it  was  his  turn  to  pass  the  box  to 
Burnbrae. 


I      i 


m  ' 

I 

K 

1 

m  > 

'1 

p  1 

i 

<    J 

1 

mm 


no 


T.ACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


■tit 


f 

;tii 

;. 

'  i'l 

5.-      *      ■ 

il 

■  'i' 

1*  ■: 

;  ,i' 

,1 

1 

i 

if 

ft' 

i 

The  minister  returned  to  his  study  in  a  fine 
glow  of  body  and  soul,  to  find  a  severe  figure 
standing  motionless  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Wass  that  what  you  call  a  sermon  ? "  said 
Lachhn  Campbell,  without  other  greeting. 

John  Carmichacl  was  still  so  full  of  joy  that  he 
did  not  catch  the  tone,  and  explained  with  college 
pedantry  that  it  was  hardly  a  sermon,  nor  yet  a 
iecture. 

*'  You  may  call  it  a  meditation." 

"  I  will  be  calling  it  an  essay  without  one  bite 
of  grass  for  starving  sheep." 

Then  the  minister  awoke  from  a  pleasant  dream, 
as  if  one  had  flung  cold  water  on  his  naked  body. 

"  What  was  wrong  ?  "  with  an  anxious  look  at 
the  stern  little  man  who  of  a  sudden  had  become 
his  judge. 

"  There  was  nothing  right,  for  I  am  not  thinking 
that  trees  and  leaves  and  stubble  fields  will  save 
our  souls,  and  I  did  not  hear  about  sin  and 
repentance  and  the  work  of  Christ.  It  iss  sound 
doctrine  that  we  need,  and  a  great  peetv  you  are 
not  giving  it." 

The  minister  had  been  made  much  of  in  college 


III 


A  GRAND  INQUISITOR 

circles,  and  had  a  fair  idea  of  himself.  He  was  a 
kindly  lad,  but  he  did  not  see  why  he  should  be 
lectured  by  an  old  Highlandman  who  read  nothing 
except  Puritans,  and  was  blind  with  prejudice. 
When  they  parted  that  Sabbath  afternoon  it  was 
the  younger  man  that  had  lost  his  temper,  and 
the  other  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands. 

Perhaps  the  minister  would  have  understood 
Lachlan  better  if  he  had  known  that  the  old  man 
could  not  touch  food  when  he  got  home,  and  spent 
the  evening  in  a  fir  wood  praying  for  the  lad  he 
had  begun  to  love.  And  Lachlan  would  have  had 
a  lighter  heart  if  he  had  heard  the  minister  ques- 
tioning himself  whether  he  had  denied  the  Evangel 
or  sinned  against  one  of  Christ's  disciples.  They 
argued  together  ;  they  prayed  apart. 

Lachlan  was  careful  to  say  nothing,  but  the 
congregation  felt  that  his  hand  was  against  the 
minister,  and  Burnbrae  took  him  to  task. 

"  Ye  maunna  be  ower  hard  on  him,  Maister 
Campbell,  for  he's  but  young,  and  comin'  on  fine. 
He  hes  a  hearty  word  for  ilka  body  on  the  road, 
and  the  sicht  o'  his  fresh  young  face  in  the  poopit 
is  a  sermon  itsel'." 


.11 


I  i' 


\ 


iia 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


1    1 


I  ! 


il 


I, 


I 


"  You  are  wrong,  Burnbrae,  if  you  will  be 
thinking  that  my  heart  iss  not  warm  to  the 
minister,  for  it  went  out  unto  him  from  the  day 
he  preached  his  first  sermon.  But  the  Lord 
regardeth  not  the  countenance  of  man." 

*'  Nae  doot,  nae  doot,  but  I  canna  see  cnything 
wrang  in  his  doctrine ;  it  wudna  be  reasonable  tae 
expect  auld-fashioned  sermons  frae  a  young  man, 
and  I  wud  coont  them  barely  honest.  A'm  no 
denying  that  he  gaes  far  afield,  and  taks  us  tae 
strange  lands  when  he's  on  his  travels,  but  ye  'ill 
acknowledge  that  he  gaithcrs  mony  treasures,  and 
he  aye  comes  back  tae  Christ." 

"  No,  I  will  not  be  saying  that  John  Carmicbael 
does  not  love  Christ,  for  I  hef  seen  the  Lord  in 
his  sermons  like  a  face  through  a  lattice.  Oh  yes, 
and  I  hef  felt  the  fragrance  of  the  myrrh.  But  I 
am  not  liking  his  doctrine,  and  I  wass  thinking 
that  some  day  there  will  be  no  original  sin  left  in 
the  parish  of  Drumtochty." 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  minister  made  a 
great  mistake,  although  he  was  trying  to  do  his 
best  for  the  people,  and  always  obeyed  his  con- 
science.    He  used  to  come  over  to  the  Cottage  for 


A  GRAND  INQUISITOR 


113 


a  ramble  through  my  books,  and  one  evening  he 
told  me  that  lie  had  prepared  what  he  called  a 
•'  course  "  on  Biblical  criticism,  and  was  going  to 
place  Drumtochty  on  a  level  with  Germany.  It 
was  certainly  a  strange  part  for  me  to  advise  a 
minister,  but  I  had  grown  to  like  the  lad,  because 
he  was  full  of  enthusiasm  and  too  honest  for  this 
world,  and  I  implored  him  to  be  cautious. 
Drumtochty  was  not  anxious  to  be  enlightened 
about  the  authors  of  the  Pentateuch,  being  quite 
satisfied  with  Moses,  and  it  was  possible  that  cer- 
tain good  men  in  Drumtochty  might  resent  any 
interference  with  their  hereditary  notions.  Why 
could  he  not  read  this  subject  for  his  own  pleasure, 
and  teach  it  quietly  in  classes?  Why  give  him- 
self away  in  the  pulpit  ?  This  worldly  counsel 
brought  the  minister  to  a  white  heat,  and  he  rose 
to  his  feet.  Had  he  not  been  ordained  to  feed  his 
people  with  truth,  and  was  he  not  bound  to  tell  them 
all  he  knew  ?  We  were  living  in  an  age  of  transi- 
tion, and  he  must  prepare  Christ's  folk  that  they 
be  not  taken  unawares.  If  he  failed  in  his  duty 
through   any   fear   of  consequences,  men   would 

arise  afterwards  to  condemn  him  for  cowardice, 

H 


t 


i 


1^ 


!  I  i 
I' 


y  Hi 


v 

h. 

ill': 


n 


i 


114 


LAC H LAN  CAMPBELL 


h. 
J  i 


an-i  lay  their  unbelief  at  his  door.  When  he  ceased 
I  was  ashamed  of  my  cynical  advice,  and  resolved 
never  again  to  interfere  with  "courses"  or  other 
matters  above  the  lay  mind.  But  greater  know- 
ledge of  the  world  had  made  me  a  wise  pro[)het. 

Within  a  month  the  Free  Kirk  was  in  an  uproar, 
and  when  I  dropped  in  one  Sabbath  morning  the 
situation  seemed  to  me  a  very  pathetic  tragedy. 
The  minister  was  offering  to  the  honest  country  folk 
a  mass  of  immature  and  undigested  details  about 
the  Bible,  and  they  were  listening  with  wearied, 
perplexed  faces.  Lachlan  Campbell  sat  grim  and 
watchful,  without  a  sign  of  flinching,  but  even  from 
the  Manse  pew  I  could  detect  the  suffering  of  his 
heart.  When  the  minister  blazed  into  polemic 
against  the  bigotry  of  tiie  old  school,  the  iron  face 
quivered  as  if  a  father  had  been  struck  by  his  son. 
Carmichael  looked  thin  and  nervous  in  the  pulpit, 
and  it  came  to  me  that  if  new  views  are  to  be 
preached  to  old-fashioned  people  it  ought  not  to  be 
by  lads  who  are  always  heady  and  intolerant, but  by 
a  stout  man  of  middle  age,  with  i  rich  voice  and  a 
good-natured  manner.  Had  Carmichael  rasped 
and  girded  much  longer,  one  would  have  believed 


Ll;' 


on. 

pit, 
be 
be 
by 

da 
•ed 
ed 


A  GRAND  INQUISITOR 


"5 


in  the  inspiration  of  the  vowel  points,  and  I  left 
the  church  with  a  low  heart,  for  this  was  a  woeful 
change  from  his  first  sermon. 

Lachlan  would  not  be  pacified,  not  even  by 
the  plea  of  the  minister's  health. 

"Oh  yes,  I  am  seeing  that  he  is  ill,  and  I  will 
be  as  sorry  as  any  man  in  Drumtochty.  But  it 
iss  not  too  much  work,  as  they  are  saying ;  it 
iss  the  judgment  of  God.  It  iss  not  goot  to 
meddle  with  Moses,  and  John  Carmichael  will 
be  knowing  that.  His  own  sister  wass  not 
respectful  to  Moses,  and  she  will  not  be  feeling 
fery  well  next  day." 

But  Burnbrac  added  that  the  "  auld  man  cudna 
be  mair  cast  doon  if  he  hed  lost  his  dochter." 

The  peace  of  the  Free  Kirk  had  been  broken, 
and  the  minister  was  eating  out  his  heart,  when 
he  remembered  the  invitation  of  Marget  Howe, 
and  went  one  sweet  spring  day  to  Whinnie 
Knowe. 

Marget  met  him  with  her  quiet  welcome  at 
the  garden  gate. 

"  Ye  hae  dune  me  a  great  kindness  in  comin*, 
Maister  Carmichael,  and  if  ye  please  we  'ill  sit  in 


i! 


I 


Mv 


i'     ! 


!  i^' 


I' 


11-  -i 


xt6 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


If' 


this   sunny   corner   which   is   dear   tae   me,  and 
ye  'ill  tell  me  yir  troubles." 

So  they  sat  down  together  beside  the  brier 
bush,  and  after  one  glance  at  Marget's  face  the 
minister  opened  his  heart,  and  told  her  the  great 
controversy  with  Lachlan. 

Marget  lifted  her  head  as  one  who  had  heard  of 
some  brave  deed,  and  there  was  a  ring  in  her 
voice. 

"  It  maks  me  prood  before  God  that  there  are 
twa  men  in  Drumtochty  who  follow  their  conscience 
as  king,  and  coont  truth  dearer  than  their  ain 
freends.  It's  peetifu'  when  God's  bairns  fecht 
through  greed  and  envy,  but  it's  hertsome  when 
they  are  wullin'  tae  wrestle  aboot  the  Evangel, 
for  surely  the  end  o'  it  a'  maun  be  peace. 

"  A've  often  thocht  that  in  the  auld  days  baith 
the  man  on  the  rack  and  the  innueesitor  himself 
micht  be  gude  men  and  accepted  o'  God,  and 
maybe  the  inqueesitor  suffered  mair  than  the 
martyr.  A'm  thinkin',  Maister  Carmichael,  that 
it's  been  hardest  on  Lachlan." 

The  minister's  head  was  buried  in  his  hands, 
but  his  heart  was  with  Marget. 


A  GRAND  INQUISITOR 


117 


ids, 


"  It's  a  strange  buik  the  Bible,  and  no  the  buik 
we  wud  hae  made,  tae  judge  by  oor  bit  creeds 
and  confessions.  It's  like  a  head  o'  aits  in  the 
harvest  time.  There's  the  ear  that  bauds  the 
grain  and  keeps  it  safe,  and  that's  the  history, 
and  there's  often  no  mickle  nutriment  in  it ;  then 
there's  the  corn  lying  in  the  ear,  which  is  the 
Evangel  frae  Eden  tae  Revelation,  and  that  is 
the  bread  o'  the  soul.  But  the  corn  maun  be 
threshed  first  and  the  cauf  (chaff)  cleaned  aff. 
It's  a  bonnie  sicht  tae  see  the  pure  grain  fallin' 
like  a  rinnin'  burn  on  the  corn-room  floor,  and  a 
glint  o'  the  sun  through  the  window  turning 
it  intae  gold.  But  the  stour  (dust)  o'  the  cauf 
room  is  mair  than  onybody  can  abide,  and  the 
cauf's  worth  naethin'  when  the  corn's  awa." 

"  Ye  mean,"  said  the  minister,  "  that  my  study 
is  the  thrcshin'  mill,  and  that  some  of  the  chaff 
has  got  into  the  pulpit." 

"  Yir  no  offended,"  and  Marget's  voice  trembled. 

Then  the  minister  lifted  his  head  and  laughed 
aloud  with  joy,  while  a  swift  flash  of  humour  lit 
up  Marget's  face. 

"  You've  been  the  voice  of  God  to  me  this  day, 


1 

f 

1 

ii 

I 

f"i 

If 

■ 

i 

i 

i' ' 

i  II 


u 


Ii  11 


wimm 


mmmmm 


\l     I 


ii8 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELT. 


Mrs.  Howe,  but  if  I  give  up  my  'course,'  the 
people  will  misunderstand,  for  I  know  everything 
I  gave  was  true,  and  I  would  give  it  all  again  if  it 
were  expedient." 

"  Nae  fear,  Maistcr  Carmichael,  naebody  mis- 
understands that  luvcs,  and  the  fouk  all  luve  ye, 
and  the  man  that  hauds  yc  dearest  is  Lachlan 
Campbell.  I  saw  the  look  in  his  een  that  canna 
be  mista'en." 

"  I'll  go  to  him  this  very  day,"  and  the  minister 
leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  Ye  'ill  no  regret  it,"  said  Marget,  "  /or  God 
will  give  ye  peace." 

Lachlan  did  not  see  the  minister  coming,  for 
he  was  busy  with  a  lamb  that  had  lost  its  way 
and  hurt  itself.  Carmichael  marked  with  a 
growing  tenderness  at  his  heart  how  gently  the 
old  man  washed  and  bound  up  the  wounded  leg, 
all  the  time  crooning  to  the  frightened  creature  in 
the  sweet  Gaelic  speech,  and  also  how  he  must 
needs  J7ive  the  lamb  a  drink  of  warm  milk  before 
he  set  it  free. 

When  he  rose  from  his  work  of  mercy,  he 
faced  the  minister. 


A  GRAND  INQUISITOR  1,9 

For  an  instant  Lachlan  hesitated,  and  then  at 
the  look  on  Carmichael's  face  he  held  out  both 
his  hands. 

"  This  Iss  a  jroot  day  for  me,  and  I  bid  you  ten 
thousand  welcomes." 

But  the  minister  took  the  first  word. 

"  Vou  and  I,  Lachlan,  have  not  seen  eye  to  eye 
about  some  things  lately,  and  I  am  not  here  to 
argue  which  is  nearer  the  truth,  because  perhaps 
we  may  always  differ   on    some   lesser   matters 
But  once  I  spoke  rudely  to  you.  and  often  I  have 
spoken   unwisely  in  my  sermons.      You  are  an 
old  man  and  I  am  a  young,  and   I  ask  you  to 
forgive  me  and  to  pray  that  both  of  us  may  be 
kept  near  the  heart  of  our  Lord,  whom  we  love, 
and  who  loves  us." 

No  man  can  be  so  courteous  as  a  Celt,  and 
Lachlan  was  of  the  pure  Highland  breed,  kindest 
of  friends,  fiercest  of  foes. 

"You  hef  done  a  beautiful  deed  this  da- 
Maister  Carmichael ;  and  the  grace  of  God  must 
hef  been  exceeding  abundant  in  your  heart  It 
ISS  this  man  that  asks  your  forgiveness,  for  I  wass 
full  of  pride,  and  did  not  speak  to  you  as  an  old 


(:|' 


!)|: 


If; 


f-    r. 


Wh 


I20 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


li  ) 


I 


9 


I 


i 


\: 


man  should  ;  but  God  iss  my  witness  that  I 
would  lief  plucked  out  my  right  eye  for  your  sake. 
You  will  say  every  word  God  gives  you,  and 
I  will  take  as  much  as  God  gives  me,  and  there 
will  be  a  covenant  between  us  as  long  as  we  live." 

They  knelt  together  on  the  earthen  floor  of  that 
Highln.nd  cottage,  the  old  school  and  the  new, 
before  one  Lord,  and  the  only  difference  in  their 
prayers  was  that  the  young  man  prayed  they 
might  keep  the  faith  once  delivered  unto  the 
saints,  while  the  burden  of  the  old  man's  prayer 
was  that  they  might  be  led  into  all  truth. 

Lachlan's  portion  that  evening  ought  to  have 
been  the  slaying  of  Sisera  from  the  Book  of 
Judges,  but  instead  he  read,  to  Flora's  amazement 
— it  was  the  night  before  she  left  her  home — the 
thirteenth  chapter  of  i  Corinthians,  and  twice  he 
repeated  to  himself,  "  Now  we  see  through  a  glass 
darkly,  but  then  face  to  face." 


I 


II 

HIS  BITTER  SHAME 

The  Free  Kirk  people  were  very  proud  of  their 
vestry  because  the  Estabh-shed  Church  had  none, 
and  because  it  was  reasonably  supposed  to  be  the 
smallest  in   Scotland.     When  the  minister,  who 
touched  five  feet  eleven,  and  the  beadle,  who  was 
three  inches  taller,  assembled   for  the  procession, 
with   the  precentor,  a   man   of  fair   proportions, 
there  was  no  waste  ground  in  that  room,  and  any 
messenger  from  the  church  door  had  to  be  selected 
with  judgment.     "  Step  up,  Airchie  man,  tae  the 
vestry,"  Burnbrae  would  say  to  the  one  under- 
sized man  in  Drumtochty,  "anc!  tell  the  minister 
no  tae  forget  the  Jews.     Ye  can  birse  (push)  in 
fine,  but  it  wud  beat  me  to  get  by  the  door.     It's 
a  bonnie  bit  room,  but  three  fouk  stannin'  maks  it 
contrakit  for  another  man." 


1 

^ 

i 

I  k 

1 

1 

11 

1 

y 

; 

• 

■ 

k 

I 

1 

1 

1 

1 

! 

i 

I  V 


133 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


i 


■'.  t 


It  was  eight  feet  by  eight,  and  consisted  largely  of 
two  doors  and  a  fireplace,  and  its  chief  glory  was 
a  portrait  of  Dr  Chalmers,  whose  face,  dimly  seen 
in  the  light  of  the  lamp,  was  a  charter  of  authority, 
and  raised  the  proceedings  to  the  level  of  history. 
Lockers  on  either  side  of  the  mantelpiece  con- 
tained the  church  library,  which  abounded  in  the 
lives  of  Scottish  worthies,  and  was  never  lightly 
disturbed.  Where  there  was  neither  grate  nor 
door,  a  narrow  board  ran  along  the  wall,  on 
which  it  was  simply  a  point  of  honour  to  seat  the 
twelve  deacons,  who  met  once  a  month  to  raise 
the  Sustentation  Fund  by  modest,  heroic  sacrifices 
of  hard-working  people,  and  to  keep  the  slates  on 
the  church  roof  in  winter.  When  they  had  no- 
thing else  to  do,  they  talked  about  the  stove  which 
**  came  out  in  '43,"  and,  when  it  was  in  good 
humour,  would  raise  the  temperature  in  winter  one 
degree  above  freezing.  Seating  the  court  wls  a 
work  of  art,  and  could  only  be  achieved  by  the 
repression  of  the  smaller  men,  who  looked  out 
from  the  loop-holes  of  retreat,  the  projection  of 
bigger  men  on  to  their  neighbours'  knees,  and  the 
absolute  elimination   of  Archie   Moncur,  whose 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME 


"3 


voice  made  motions  on  temperance  from  the  lowest 
depths.  Nctherton  was  a'ways  the  twelfth  man 
to  arrive,  and  nothing  could  be  done  till  he  was 
safely  settled.  Only  some  six  inches  were  reserved 
at  the  end  of  the  bench,  and  he  was  a  full  sitter, 
but  he  had  discovered  a  trick  of  sitting  sideways 
and  screwing  his  leg  against  the  opposite  wall, 
that  secured  the  court  as  well  as  himself  in  their 
places  on  the  principle  of  a  compressed  spring. 
When  this  operation  was  completed,  Burnbrae 
used  to  say  to  the  minister,  who  sat  in  the  middle 
on  a  cane  chair  before  the  tiniest  of  tables — the 
living  was  small,  and  the  ministers  never  grew  fat 
till  they  left— 

"We're  fine  and  comfortable  noo,  Moderator, 
and  ye  can  begin  business  as  sune  as  ye  like." 

As  there  were  only  six  elders  they  could  sit 
in  state,  besides  leaving  a  vacant  space  for  any 
penitents  who  came  to  confess  their  sins  and 
receive  absolution,  or  some  catechumen  who 
wished  to  be  admitted  to  the  sacrament.  Car- 
michael  used  to  say  that  a  meeting  of  Session 
affected  his  imagination,  atid  would  have  made  an 
interior  for  Rembrandt.     On  one  side  of  the  table 


■V 


u 

I     1 


j: 


ti.    ' 


r24 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


\,i  11 


'  I) 

I  V 


I  '^ 


.i»  t; 


sat  the  men  who  represented  the  piety  of  the  dis- 
trict, and  were  supposed  to  be  "  far  ben  "  in  the 
Divine  fellowship,  and  on  the  other  some  young 
girl  in  her  loneliness,  who  wrung  her  handkerchief 
in  terror  of  this  dreaded  spiritual  court,  and  hoped 
within  her  heart  that  no  elder  would  ask  her 
"  effectual  calling "  from  the  Shorter  Catechism  ; 
while  the  little  lamp,  hanging  from  the  ceiling,  and 
swinging  gently  in  the  wind  that  had  free  access 
from  every  earth,  cast  a  fitful  light  on  the  fresh, 
tearful  face  of  the  girl  and  the  hard,  weather- 
beaten  countenances  of  the  elders,  composed  into 
a  serious  gravity  not  untouched  by  tenderness. 
They  were  little  else  than  labouring  men,  but  no 
one  was  elected  to  that  court  unless  he  had  given 
pledges  of  godliness,  and  they  bore  themselves  as 
men  who  had  the  charge  of  soul? 

The  little  Sanhedrim  had  within  it  the  school  of 
Hillel,  which  was  swayed  by  mercy,  and  its  Rabbi 
was  Burnbrae  ;  and  the  school  of  Shammai,  whose 
rule  was  inflexible  justice,  and  its  Rabbi  was 
Lachlan  Campbell.  Burnbrae  was  a  big-hearted 
man,  with  a  fatherly  manner,  and  had  a  genius  for 
dealing  with  "  young  communicants." 


■ 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME 


"5 


"  Weel,  Jessie,  we're  awfu  pleased  tae  think  yer 
gaein'  forrit,  and  the  Dominie  wes  tellin'  me  juist 
last  week  that  ye  did  yir  work  at  schule  graund, 
and  knew  yir  Bible  frae  end  tae  end. 
i  "  It'll  no  be  easy  to  speir  (ask)  the  lil:e  o*  you 
questions,  but  ye  mind  Abraham,  Jessie." 

'*  Ou  ay,"  and  Jessie  is  all  alert,  although  she 
is  afraid  to  look  up. 

"  What  was  the  name  o'  hi«  wife,  noo  ?  " 

"  Sarah,  an'  their  son  was  Isaac." 

"  That's  richt,  and  what  aboot  Isaac's  wife  ?  " 

"  Isaac  mairrit  Rebecca,  and  they  hed  twa  sons, 
Jacob  and  Esau,"  and  the  girl  takes  a  shy  glance 
at  the  honest  elder,  and  begins  to  feel  at  home. 

"  Domsie  wesna  far  wrang,  a'  see,  but  its  no 
possible  ye  cud  tell  us  the  names  o'  Jacob's  sons ; 
its  maybe  no  fair  tae  ask  sic  a  teuch  question," 
Knowing  all  the  while  that  this  was  a  teat  case  of 
Domsie's. 

When  Jessie  reached  Benjamin,  Burnbrae  could 
not  contain  himself. 

"  It's  nae  use  trying  to  stick  Jessie  wi'  the  Bible, 
neeburs  ;  we  'ill  see  what  she  can  dae  wi'  the 
Carritches   (Catechism).     Yir  no  the  lassie  thai 


>  \T':i 


I* 


r^^ 


-..,4w»-.».Mimpimpi 


IM 


i' 


J  v 


I'! 


I 


126 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


said  the  questions  frae  beginning  tae  end  wi'  twa 
mistaks,  are  ye  ?  " 

Yes,  she  was,  and  dared  him  to  come  on,  for 
Jessie  has  forgotten  the  minister  and  all  the 
Session. 

"  The  elders  wud  like  tae  hear  '  What  is  the 
Lord's  Supper  ? ' " 

"  That's  it ;  and,  Jessie ,  rn  oman,  gie's  the 
'  worthy  receiving.' " 

Jessie  achieves  another  triumph,  and  is  now 
ready  for  anything. 

"  Ye  hae  the  Word  weel  stored  in  yir  mind, 
lassie,  and  ye  maun  keep  it  in  yir  life,  and  dinna 
forget  that  Christ's  a  gude  Maister." 

"  A'll  dae  ma  best,"  and  Jessie  declared  that 
Burnbrae  had  been  as  kind  as  if  she  had  been 
"  his  ain  bairn,"  and  that  she  "  wasn.'  feared  ava." 
But  her  trial  is  not  over  ;  the  worst  is  .  r  c  ne. 

Lachlan  began  where  Burnbrae  ended,  and  very 
soon  had  Jessie  on  the  rack. 

'*  How  old  will  you  be  ?  " 

*'  Auchteen  next  Martinmas." 

"  And  why  will  you  be  coming  to  the  sacra- 
ment ?  " 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME 


127 


"  Ma  mither  thocht  it  was  time,"  w'th  a  threaten- 
ing of  tears  as  she  looked  at  the  face  in  the  corner. 

"  Ye  will  maybe  tell  the  Session  what  hass  been 
your  *  lawwork '  and  how  long  ye  hef  been  at 
Sinai/' 

"  A'  dinna  ken  what  yir  askin'.  I  was  never  oot 
o'  Drumtochty,"  and  Jessie  breaks  down  utterly, 

"A'  dinna  think,  Moderator,  we  ocht  tae  ask 
sic  questions,"  broke  in  Burnbrae,  who  could  not 
see  a  little  one  put  to  confusion ;  "  an'  J  canna 
mind  them  in  the  Gospels.  There's  ae  command- 
ment Jessie  keeps  weel,  as  a'  can  testeefy,  and 
that's  the  fifth,  for  there's  no  a  better  dochter  in 
Drumtochty.  A'  move,  Moderator,  she  get  her 
token ;  dinna  greet,  puir  woman,  for  ye've  dune 
weel,  and  the  Session's  rael  satisfeed." 

"It  wass  Dr.  John's  mark  I  wass  trying  the 
girl  by,"  explained  Lachlan  after  Jessie  iiad  gone 
away  comforted.  "And  it  iss  a  goot  mark,  oh 
yes,  and  very  searching. 

"Ye  will  maybe  not  know  what  it  iss,  Moderator," 
and  Lachlan  regarded  the  minister  with  austere 
superiority,  for  it  was  the  winter  of  the  feud. 

No,  he  did  not,  nor  any  of  the  Session,  being 


If 


if; 


■I ;: 


I^ 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


•  w 


M 


4* 


all  douce  Scotchmen,  except  Donald  Menzies 
who  was  at  home  fighting  the  devil. 

"  It  tss  broken  bones,  and  Dr.  John  did  preach 
three  hours  upon  it  at  Auchindarroch  Fast,  and 
there  wass  not  many  went  to  the  Sacrament  on 
that  occasion, 

"  Broken  bones  iss  a  fine  mark  to  begin  with, 
and  the  next  will  be  doubts.  But  there  iss  a 
deeper,"  continued  Lachlan,  warming  to  his  sub- 
ject, "  oh  yes,  far  deeper,  and  I  heard  of  it  when 
I  wass  North  for  the  sheep,  and  I  will  not  be 
forgetting  that  day  with  Janet  Macfarlane. 

"  I  knew  she  wass  a  professor,  and  I  wass 
looking  for  her  marks.  But  it  wass  not  for  me  to 
hef  been  searching  her ;  it  was  that  woman  that 
should  hef  been  trying  me." 

A  profound  silence  wrapt  the  Session. 

"  '  Janet,'  I  said,  *  hef  ye  had  many  doubts  ?  * 

"  *  Doubts,  Lachlan  ?  was  that  what  you  asked  ? 
I  hef  had  desertions,  and  one  will  be  for  six 
months.* 

"  So  I  saw  she  wass  far  beyond  me,  for  I  dare 
not  be  speaking  about  desertions." 

Two  minutes  after  the  minister  pronounced  the 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME 


129 


benediction,  and  no  one  had  offered  any  remark 
in  the  interval. 

It  seemed  to  the  elders  that  Lachlan  dealt 
hardly  with  young  people  and  those  that  had 
gone  astray,  but  they  learned  one  evening  that 
his  justice  had  at  least  no  partiality.  Burnbrae 
said  afterwards  that  Lachlan  "looked  like  a 
ghaist  comin'  in  at  the  door,"  but  he  sat  in  silence 
in  the  shadow,  and  no  one  marked  the  agony  on 
his  face  till  the  end. 

"  If  that  iss  all  the  business.  Moderator,  I  hef  to 
bring  a  case  01'  discipline  before  the  Session,  and 
ask  them  to  do  their  duty.  It  iss  known  to  me 
that  a  young  woman  who  hass  been  a  member  of 
this  church  hass  left  her  home  and  gone  into  the 
far  country.  There  will  be  no  use  iii  summoning 
her  to  appear  before  the  Session,  for  she  will 
never  be  seen  again  in  this  parish.  I  move  that 
she  be  cut  off  from  the  roll,  and  her  name  iss  " 
and  Lachlan's  voice  broke,  but  in  an  instant  he  re- 
covered himself — "  her  name  iss  Flora  Campbell." 
Carmichael  confessed  to  me  that  he  was 
stricken  dumb,  and  that  Lachlan's  ashen  face 
held  him  with  an  awful  fascination. 


MS: 


li 


!   Ii 


<m 


;       ; 


130 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


*lii 


11 


:i 


I' 

j  ■ 

n 


It  was  Buriibrae  that  first  found  a  voice,  and 
showed  that  night  the  fine  delicacy  of  heart  that 
may  be  hidden  behind  a  plain  exterior. 

"  Moderator,  this  is  a  terrible  calamity  that  hes 
befaen  oor  brither,  and  a'm  feelin'  as  if  a'  hcd  lost 
a  bairn  o'  my  ane,  for  a  sweeter  lassie  didna 
c!oss  oor  kirk  door.  Nane  o'  us  want  tae  know 
what  hes  happened  or  where  she  hes  gane,  and 
no  a  word  o'  this  wull  cross  oor  lips.  Her 
faither's  dune  mair  than  cud  be  expeckit  o*  mortal 
man,  and  noo  we  have  oor  duty.  It's  no  the  way 
o'  this  Session  tae  cut  aff  ony  member  o'  the 
flock  at  a  stroke,  and  we  'ill  no  begin  with  Flora 
Campbell.  A'  move,  Moderator,  that  her  case  be 
left  tae  her  faither  and  yersel,  and  oor  ncebur 
may  depend  on  it  that  Flora's  name  and  his  ain 
will  be  mentioned  in  oor  prayers,  ilka  mornin' 
an'  nicht  till  the  gude  Shepherd  o'  the  sheep 
brings  her  hame." 

Burnbrae  paused,  and  then,  with  tears  in  his 
voice — men  do  not  weep  in  Drumtochty — "  With 
the  Lord  there  is  mercy,  and  with  Him  iii 
plenteous  redemption." 

The  minister  took  the  old  man's  arm  and  led 


If 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME  13, 

him  into  the  manse,  and  set  him  in  the  big  chair 
by  the  study  fire.  "  Thank  God,  Lachlan,  we  are 
friends  now ;  tell  me  about  it  as  if  I  were  your 
son  and  P^lora's  brother." 

The  father  took  a  letter  out  of  an  inner  pocket 
with  a  trembling  hand,  and  this  is  what  Car- 
michael  read  b)-  the  light  of  the  lamp  :— 

"Dear    FATHER,-When  this  reaches  you  I 
will  be  in  London,  and  not  worthy  to  cross  your 
door.     Do  not  be  always  angry  with  me,  and  try 
to  forgive  me,  for  you  will  not  be  troubled  any 
more  by  my  dancing  or  dressing.     Do  not  think 
that  I  will  be  blaming  you,  for  you  have  been  a 
good  father  to  me,  and  said  what  you  would  be 
considering  right,  but  it  is  not  easy  for  a  man  to 
understand  a  girl.      Oh,  if  I  had  had  my  mother, 
then  she  would  have  understood  me,  and  I  would 
not    have    crossed    you.      Forget    poor    Flora's 
foolishness,   but    you   will    not   forget    her,   and 
maybe  you  will  still  pray  for  me.     Take  clre  of 
the  geraniums  for  my  sake,  and  give  milk  to  the 
lamb  that  you  called  after  me.     I  will  never  see 
you  again,  in  this  world   or   the   next,  nor  my 


i 
I. 
-I    i 


! 


V 


m  'I 


132 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


1:1 


mother  ....  (here  the  letter  was  much  blotted). 
When  I  think  that  there  will  be  no  one  to  look 
after  you,  and  have  the  fire  burning  for  you  on 
winter  nights,  I  will  be  rising  to  come  back. 
But  it  is  too  late,  too  late.  Oh,  the  disgrace  I 
will  be  bringing  on  you  in  the  glen. — Your 
unworthy  daughter,  FLORA  CAMPBELL." 


1^  Ii 


"This  is  a  fiery  trial,  Lachlan,  and  I  cannot 
even  imagine  what  you  are  suffering.  But  do 
not  despair,  for  that  is  not  the  letter  of  a  bad 
girl.  Perhaps  she  was  impatient,  and  has  been 
led  astray.  But  Flora  is  good  at  heart,  and  you 
must  not  think  she  is  gone  for  ever." 

Lachlan  groaned,  the  first  moan  he  had  made, 
and  then  he  tottered  to  his  feet. 

"  You  are  fery  kind,  Maistcr  Carmichael,  and 
so  wass  Burnbrae,  and  I  will  be  thankful  to  you 
all,  but  you  do  not  understand.  Oh  no,  you  do 
not  understand."  Lachlan  caught  hold  of  a  chair 
and  looked  the  minister  in  the  face. 

"  She  hass  gone,  and  there  will  be  no  coming 
back.  You  would  not  take  her  name  from  the 
roll  of  the  church,  and   I  will  not  be  meddling 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME  133 

with  that  book.  But  I  hef  blotted  out  her  name 
from  my  Bible,  where  her  mother's  name  iss 
written  and  mine.  She  has  wrought  confusion  in 
Israel  and  in  an  elder's  house,  and  I  ....  I 
hef  no  daughter.  But  I  loved  her ;  she  nefcr 
knew  how  I  loved  her,  for  her  mother  would  be 
looking  at  me  from  her  eyes." 

The  minister  walked  with  Lachlan  to  the  foot 
of  the  hill  on  which  his  cottage  stood,  and  after 
they  had  shaken  hands  in  silence,  he  watched 
the  old  man's  figure  in  the  cold  moonlight  till  he 
disappeared  into  the  forsaken  he  ae,  where  the 
fire  had  gone  out  on  the  hearth,  and  neither  love 
nor  hope  were  waiting  for  a  broken  heart. 

The  railway  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to 
come  to  Drumtochty,  and  we  were  cut  off  from 
the  lowlands  by  miles  of  forest,  so  our  manners 
retained  the  fashion  of  the  former  age.  Six  elders, 
besides  the  minister,  knew  the  tragedy  of  Flora 
Campbell,  and  never  opened  their  lips.  Mrs. 
Macfadyen,  who  was  our  newspaper,  and  under- 
stood her  duty,  refused  to  pry  into  this  secret. 
The  pity  of  the  glen  went  out  to  Lachlan,  but  no 
one  even  looked  a  question  as  he  sat  alone  in  his 


fi    I 


?:        IS    1 


m 


m- 


r.    I 


134 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


■ill 


I 


If' 


pew  or  came  down  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  to 
the  village  shop  for  his  week's  provisions.  London 
friends  thought  me  foolish  about  my  adopted 
home,  but  1  asked  them  whether  they  could  find 
such  perfect  good  manners  in  Belgravia,  and  they 
were  silert.  My  Drumtochty  neighbours  would 
have  played  an  awkward  part  in  a  drawing-room, 
but  never  have  I  seen  in  all  my  wanderings  men 
and  women  of  truer  courtesy  or  tenderer  heart. 

"  It  gars  ma  hert  greet  tac  see  him,"  Mrs. 
Macfadyen  said  to  me  one  day,  "sae  booed  an' 
disjackit,  him  that  wcs  that  snod  (tidy)  and  firm. 
His  hair's  turned  white  in  a  month,  and  he's  awa 
tae  naething  in  his  claithes.  But  least  said  is 
sunest  mended.  It's  no  richt  tae  interfere  wi* 
another's  sorrow,  an'  it  wad  be  an  awfu'  sin  tae 
misca'  a  young  lassie.  We  maun  juist  houp  that 
Flora  '11  sunc  come  back,  for  if  she  disna  Lachlan 
'ill  no  be  lang  wi's.  He's  sayin'  naethin',  and  a' 
respeck  him  for't ;  but  onybody  can  see  that  his 
hert  is  breakinV* 

We  were  helpless  till  Marget  Howe  met  Lachlan 
in  the  shop  and  read  his  sorrow  at  a  glance.  She 
went  home  to  Whin  11  ic  Knowe  in  great  distress. 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME  ,35 

"  It  wes  waesome  tae  see  the  auld  man  githcrin' 
his  bit  things  wi'  a  shakin'  hand,  and  speakin'  tae 
me  aboot  the  weather,  and  a'  the  time  his  eyes 
were  sayin',  '  Flora,  Flora.' " 

"Whardiv  ye  think  the  young  hizzie  is,Marget?" 
"Naebody   needs   tae   know,  Weelum,  an'  ye 
maunna  speak  that  way,  for  whatever's  come  ower 
her,  she's  dear  to  Lachlan  and  tae  God. 

"  It's  laid  on  me  tae  veesit  Lachlan,  for  a'm 
thinking  oor  Father  didna  comfort  us  withoot 
expeckin'  that  we  wud  comfo  -t  other  fouk." 

When    Marget    came    round    the    corner    of 
Lachlan's  cottage,  she  found   Flora's  plants  laid 
out  in  the  sun,  and  her  father  watering  them  on 
his  knees.     One  was  ready  to  die,  and  for  it  he 
had  made  a  shelter  with  his  plaid. 

He  was  taken  unawares,  but  in  a  minute  he  was 
leading  Marget  in  with  hospitable  words. 

"  It  iss  kind  of  you  to  come  to  an  old  man's 
house,  Mistress  Howe,  and  it  iss  a  fery  warm  day. 
You  will  not  care  for  speerits,  but  I  am  fery  goot 
at  making  tea." 

Marget  was  not  as  other  women,  and  she  spoke 
at  once. 


I      !: 


'  f 


If 


136 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


"  Maistcr  Campbell,  ye  will  believe  that  I  hev 
come  in  the  love  of  God,  and  because  we  hev 
baith  been  afTiickit.  I  had  ae  son,  and  he  is  gone; 
ye  had  ae  dochter,  and  she  is  gone.  A'  ken  where 
George  is,  and  am  sateesfied.  A'  doot  sairly  yir 
sorrow  is  deeper  than  mine." 

"  Would  to  God  that  she  wass  lying  in  the 
kirkyard  ;  but  I  will  not  speak  of  her.  She  iss 
not  anything  to  me  this  day.  See,  I  will  show 
you  what  I  hef  done,  for  hass  been  a  black 

shame  to  her  name." 

He  opened  the  Bible,  and  there  was  Flora's 
name  scored  with  wavering  strokes,  but  the  ink 
had  run  as  if  it  had  been  mingled  with  tears. 

Marget's  heart  burned  within  her  at  the  sight, 
and  perhaps  she  could  hardly  make  allowance  for 
Lachlan's  blood  and  theology. 

"  This  is  what  ye  hev  dune,  and  ye  let  a  woman 
see  yir  wark.  Ye  are  an  auld  man,  and  in  sore 
travail,  but  a'  tell  ye  before  God  ye  hae  the 
greater  shame.  Juist  twenty  years  o*  age  this 
spring,  and  her  mither  dead.  Nae  woman  to 
watch  over  her,  and  she  wandered  frae  the  fold, 
and  a'  ye  can  dae  is  to  tak  her  oot  o'  yir  Bible. 


w.- 


ms  BITTER  SHAME 


Fath( 


137 


lad  blotted  out  oor  names 
frae  the  Book  o'  Life  when  we  left  Plis  hoose. 
But  He  sent  Mis  ain  Son  to  seek  us,  an'  a  weary 
road  He  cam.     A'  tell  ye,  a  man  wudna  leave  a 
sheep  tae  perish  as  ye  hae  cast  aff  yir  ain  bairn. 
Yir  worse  than  Simon  the  Pharisee,  for  Mary  was 
nae  kin  tae  him.     Puir  Flora,  tae  hae  sic  a  father." 
"  Who  will  be  telling  you  that  I  wass  a  Phari- 
see ?  "  cried  T.achlan,  quivering  in  every  limb,  and 
grasping  Murgct's  arm. 

"Forgie  mc,  Lachlan,  forgie  me.  It  was  the 
thocht  o'  the  misguided  lassie  carried  me,  for  a' 
didna  come  tae  upbraid  ye." 

But  Lachlan  had  sunk  into  a  chair  and  had 
forgotten  her. 

"She  hass  the  word,  and  God  will  hef  smitten 
the  pride  of  my  heart,  for  it  iss  Simon  that  I  am. 
I  wass  hard  on  my  child,  and  I  wass  hard  on  the 
minister,  and  there  wass  none  like  me.  The  Lord 
has  laid  my  name  in  the  dust,  and  I  will  be  angry 
with  her.  But  she  iss  the  scapegoat  for  my  sins, 
and  hass  gone  into  the  desert.  God  be  merciful 
to  me  a  sinner."  And  then  Marget  understood 
no  more,  for  the  rest  was  in  Gaelic,  but  she  heard 


:?!;■; 


:  I. 


138 


LACKLAN  CAMPBELL 


i 


Flora's  name  with   another  she  took  to  be  her 
mother's  twined  together. 

So  Marget  knew  it  would  be  well  with  Lachlan 
yet,  and  she  wrote  this  letter : 

"  My  Dear  Lassie, — Ye  ken  that  I  wes  aye 
yir  freend,  and  I  am  writing  this  tae  say  that  yir 
father  luves  ye  mair  than  ever,  and  is  wearing  oot 
his  hert  for  the  sicht  o'  yir  face.  Come  back,  or 
he'll  dee  thro'  want  o'  his  bairn.  The  glen  is 
bright  and  bonny  noo,  for  the  purple  heather  is 
on  the  hills,  and  doon  below  the  gowden  corn,  wi' 
bluebell  and  poppy  flowers  between.  Naebody 
'ill  ask  ye  where  ye've  been,  or  onything  else ; 
there's  no  a  bairn  in  the  place  that's  no  wearying 
tae  see  ye ;  and,  Flora,  lassie,  if  there  will  be  sic 
gledness  in  oor  wee  glen  when  ye  come  hame, 
what  think  ye  o'  the  joy  in  the  Father's  Hoose  ? 
Start  the  verra  meenute  that  ye  get  this  letter ; 
yir  father  bids  ye  come,  and  I'm  writing  this  in 
place  o'  yir  mother.  Marget  Howe." 

Marget  went  out  to  tend  the  flowers  while 
Lachlan  read  the  letter,  and  when  he  gave  it  back 
the  address  was  written  in  his  own  hand. 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME  139 

He  went  as  far  as  the  crest  of  the  hill  with 
Marget,  and  watched  her  on  the  way  to  the  post 
office  till  she  was  only  a  speck  upon  the  road 

When  he  entered  his  cottage  the  shadows  were 
beginning  to  fall,  and  he  remembered  it  would 
soon  be  night. 

"  It  iss  in  the  dark  that  Flora  will  be  coming, 
and  she  must  know  that  her  father  iss  waiting 
for  her." 

He  cleaned  and  trimmed  with  anxious  hr.nd  a 
lamp  that  was  kept  for  show,  and  had  never  been 
used.  Then  he  selected  from  his  books  Edwards' 
"  Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  angry  God,"  and 
"  Coles  on  tne  Divine  Sovereignty,"  and  on  them 
he  laid  the  large  family  Bible  out  of  which  Flora's 
name  had  been  blotted.  This  was  the  stand  on 
which  he  set  the  lamp  in  the  window,  and  every 
night  till  Flora  returned  its  light  shone  down  the 
steep  path  that  ascended  to  her  home,  like  the 
Divine  Love  from  the  open  door  of  our  Father'^ 
House. 


|! 


s  ii 


11 


*.M  I 


w- 


■MP 


•i 


III 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER 


:i 


It  was  only  by  physical  force  and  a  free  use  of 
personalities  that  the  Kildrummie  passengers 
could  be  entrained  at  the  Junction,  and  the  Drum- 
tochty  men  were  always  the  last  to  capitulate. 

They  watched  the  niain  line  train  that  had 
brought  them  from  Muirtown  disappear  in  the 
distance,  and  then  broke  into  groups  to  discuss 
the  cattle  sale  at  leisure,  while  Peter,  the  factotum 
of  the  little  Kildrummie  branch,  drove  his  way 
through  their  midst  with  offensive  pieces  of 
luggage,  and  abused  them  by  name  without 
respect  of  persons. 

"  It's  maist  aggravating  Drumsheugh,  'at  ye  'ill 
stand  there  girnin'  at  the  prices,  as  if  ye  were  a 
puir  cottar  body  that  hed  selt  her  ae  coo,  and  us 
twal  meenutes  late.  Man,  get  intae  yer  kerridge ; 
he  'ill  no  be  fat  that  buys  frae  you,  a'll  wager." 


I  i 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER 


"  Peter's  in  an  awfu'  feery-farry  (excitement)  the 
nicht,  nceburs,"  Drumsheugh  would  respond,  after 
a  long  pause ;  "  ye  wud  think  he  wes  a  mail  gaird 
cae  hear  him  speak.  Mind  ye,  am  no  gain'  tae 
shove  ahint  if  the  engine  sticks,  for  I  hae  na  time. 
He  needs  a  bit  nip,"  and  Drumsheugh  settles  him- 
self in  his  seat,  «  or  else  there  wud  be  nae  leevin' 
wi'  him." 

Peter  escaped  this  winged  shaft,  for  he  had 
detected  a  woman  in  the  remote  darkness. 

"Keep's  a',  wumman,  what  are  ye  stravagin' 
about  there  for  out  o'  a  body's  sicht  ?  a'  near  set 
aff  withoot  ye." 

Then  Peter  recognised  her  face,  and  his  manner 
softened  of  a  sudden. 

"  Come  awa',  lassie,  come  awa' ;  a'  didna  ken  ye 
at  the  moment,  but  a'  heard  ye  hed  been  veesitin' 
in  the  sooth. 

The  third  is  terrible  full  wi'  thae  Drumtochty 
lads,  and  ye  'ill  hear  naething  but  Drumsheugh's 
stirks  ;  ye  'ill  maybe  be  as  handy  in  oor  second." 
And  Flora  Campbell  stepped  in  unseen. 

Between  the  Junction  and  Kildrummie  Peter 
was  accustomed  to  wander  along  the  footboard, 


i   i  ill. 


.If 


ViiilPiaiMMiliilliilHM 


142 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


If*'   '^ 


i 


collecting  tickets  and  identifying  passengers.  He 
was  generally  in  fine  trim  on  the  way  up,  and  took 
ample  revenge  for  the  insults  of  the  departure. 
But  it  was  supposed  that  Peter  had  taken  Drum- 
sheugh's  withering  sarcasm  to  heart,  for  he  attached 
himself  to  the  second  that  night,  and  was  invisible 
to  the  expectant  third  till  the  last  moment. 

*'  Ye've  hed  a  lang  journey,  Miss  Cammil,  and 
ye  maun  be  nearly  dune  wi'  tire ;  juist  ye  sit  still 
till  the  fouk  get  awa',  and  the  guid  wife  and  me 
wud  be  prood  if  ye  took  a  cup  o'  tea  wi's  afore  ye 
stairted  hame.  A'll  come  for  ye  as  sune  as  a'  get 
the  van  emptied  and  ma  little  trokes  feenished." 

Peter  hurried  up  to  his  cottage  in  such  hot  haste 
that  his  wife  came  out  in  great  alarm. 

"  Na,  their's  nacthin'  wrang ;  its  the  opposite 
way  this  nicht.  Ye  mind  o'  Flora  Cammil  that 
left  her  father,  and  nane  o'  the  Drumtochty  fouk 
wud  say  onything  aboot  her.  Weel,  she's  in  the 
train,  and  a've  asked  her  up  tae  rest,  and  she  was 
gled  tae  come,  puir  thing.  Sae  gie  her  a  couthy 
welcome,  wumman,  and  the  best  in  the  hoose,  for 
oprs  'ill  be  the  first  roof  she  'ill  be  under  on  her 
way  hame." 


jjiia" 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  143 

Our  women  do  not  kiss  one  another  like  the 
city  ladies;  but  the  motherly  grip  of  Mary 
Bruce's  hand  sent  a  thrill  to  Flora's  heart. 

"  Noo  a'  ca'  this  rael  kind  o'  ye,  Miss  Cammil, 
tae  come  in  withoot  ceremony,  and  a'd  be  terrible 
pleased  if  ye  would  dae  it  ony  time  yer  traivellin'. 
The  rail  is  by  ordinar'  fateegin',  and  a  rup  o'  tea 
'ill  set  ye  up,"  and  Mary  had  Flora  in  the  best 
chair,  and  was  loadin'  her  plate  with  homely 
dainties. 

Peter  would  speak  of  nothing  but  the  new 
engine  that  was  coming,  and  was  to  place  the 
Kildrummie  branch  beyond  ridicule  for  ever,  and 
on  this  great  event  he  continued  without  intermis- 
sion till  he  parted  with  Flora  on  the  edge  of  the 
pine  woods  that  divided  Drumtochty  from  Kil- 
drummie. 

"  Gude  nicht  tae  ye,  Miss  Cammil,  and  thank 
ye  again  for  yir  veesit.  Bring  the  auld  man  wi' 
ye  next  time  ye're  passing,  though  a'm  feared 
yeVe  been  deived  (deafened)  wi'  the  engine." 

Flora  took  Peter's  hand,  that  was  callous  and 
rough  with  the  turning  of  brakes  and  the  coupling 
of  chains. 


144 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


"  It  wass  not  your  new  engine  you  wass  think- 
ing about  this  night,  Peter  Bruce,  but  a  poor  girl 
that  iss  in  trouble.  I  hef  not  the  words,  but  I  will 
be  remembering  your  house,  oh  yes,  as  long  as  I 
live." 

Twice  Peter  stood  on  his  way  home ;  the  first 
time  he  slapped  his  leg  and  chuckled  : 

"  Sail,  it  was  gey  clever  o'  me ;  a  hale  kerridge 
o'  Drumtochty  lads,  and  no  ane  o'  them  ever  hed 
a  glint  o'  her." 

At  the  second  stoppage  he  drew  his  hand  across 
his  eyes. 

"  Puir  lassie,  a'  houp  her  father  'ill  be  kind  tae 
her,  for  she's  sair  broken,  and  looks  liker  deith 
than  life." 

No  one  can  desire  a  sweett  walk  than  through 
a  Scottish  pine  wood  in  late  September,  where 
you  breathe  the  healing  resinous  air,  and  the 
ground  is  crisp  and  springy  beneath  your  feet,  and 
gentle  animals  dart  away  on  every  side,  and  here 
and  there  you  come  on  an  open  space  with  a  pool, 
and  a  brake  of  gorse.  Many  a  time  on  market 
days  Flora  had  gone  singing  through  these  woods, 
plucking  a  posy  of  wild  flowers  and  finding  a 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  145 

mirror  in  every  pool,  as  young  girls  will ;  but  now 
she  trenibled  and  was  afraid.     The  rustling  of  the 
trees  in  the  darkness,  the  hooting  of  an  owl,  the' 
awful  purity  of  the  moonlight  in  the  glades'  the 
cold  sheen  of  the  water,  were  to  her  troubled  con- 
science omens  of  judgment.     Had  it  not  been  for 
the  kindness  of  Peter  Bruce,  which  was  a  pledge 
of  human  forgiveness,  there  would  have  been  no 
heart  in  her  to  dare  that  wood,  and  it  was  with  a 
sob  of  relief  she  escaped  from  the  shadow  and 
looked  upon  the  old  glen  once  more,  bathed  from 
end  to  end  in   the  light  of  the  harvest  moon. 
Beneath    her   ran    our   little   river,   spanned   by 
its   quaint   old  bridge  ;    away  on   the   right  the 
Parish  Kirk  peeped  out  from  a  clump  of  trees ; 
halfway  up  the  glen  the  clachan  lay  surrounded 
by  patches  of  corn ;  and  beyond  were  the  moors, 
with  a  shepherd's   cottage   that   held   her   heart 
Two  hours  ago  squares  of  light  told  of  warmth 
and  welcome  within ;   but  now,  as  Flora  passed 
one  house  after  another,  it  seemed  as  if  every  one 
she  knew  was  dead,  and  she  was  forgotten  in  her 
misery.     Her  heart  grew  cold,  and  she  longed  to 

lie  doivn  and  die,  when  she  caught  the  gleam  of  a 

K 


146 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


lighted  window.  Some  one  was  living  still  to 
know  she  had  repented,  and  she  knelt  down 
among  the  flowers  with  her  ear  to  t^'c  glass  to 
hear  the  sound  of  a  human  voice.  Archie  Moncur 
had  come  home  late  from  a  far-away  job,  but  he 
must  needs  have  worship  with  his  sister  before 
they  went  to  bed,  and  well  did  he  choose  the 
psalm  that  night.  Flora's  tears  rained  upon  the 
mignonette  as  the  two  old  people  sang : 

"  When  Sion's  bondage  God  turned  back, 
As  men  that  dreamed  were  we, 
Then  filled  with  laughter  was  our  mouth, 
Our  tongue  with  melody  ; " 

while  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  went  up  as 
incense  unto  God. 

All  the  way  along  the  glen  the  last  words  of 
the  psalm  still  rang  in  her  ears,  "  Rejoicing  shall 
return,"  but  as  she  touched  the  footpath  to  her 
home,  courage  failed  her.  Marget  had  written  for 
her  dead  mother,  but  no  one  could  speak  with 
authority  for  her  father.  She  knew  the  pride  of 
his  religion  and  his  iron  principles.  If  he  refused 
her  entrance,  then  it  had  been  better  for  her  to 
have  died  in  London.    A  turn  of  the  path  brought 


f 


J    ! 


www 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER 


«47 


her  within  sight  of  the   cottage,  and    her   heart 
ca.--2  into  her  mouth,  for  the  kitchen  window  was 
a  blaze  of  Hght.    One  moment  she  feared  Lachlan 
might  be  ill,  but  in  the  next  she  understood,  and 
in  the  greatness  of  her  joy  she  ran  the  rest  of  the 
way.     When  she  reached  the  door,  her  strength 
had   departed,  and   she   was  not  able  to  knock. 
But  there  was  no  need,  for  the  dogs,  who  never 
forget  nor  cast  off,  were  bidding  her  welcome  with 
short  joyous  yelps  of  delight,  and  she  could  hear 
her  father  feeling   for  the  latch,  which  for  once 
could   not   be   found,   and    saying    nothing   but 
"  Flora,  Flora." 

She  had  made  up  some  kind  of  speech,  but  the 
only  word  she  ever  said  was  "Father,"  for 
Lachlan,  who  had  never  even  kissed  her  all  the 
days  of  her  youth,  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and 
sobbed  out  blessings  over  her  head,  while  the  dogs 
licked  her  hands  with  their  soft,  kindly  tongues. 

"  It  iss  a  peety  you  hef  not  the  Gaelic,"  Flora 
said  to  Marget  afterwards  ;  "  it  iss  the  best  of  all 
languages  for  loving.  There  are  fifty  words  for 
darling,  and  my  father  will  be  calling  me  every 
one  that  night  I  came  home." 


'1 


:    I    I 

I    - 

i 


s 


i  1 


Ml 


'  n 


148 


LACHLAN  CAMPBEIJ. 


■  i 


Lachlan  was  so  carried  with  joy,  and  firelight  is 
so  hopeful,  that  he  had  not  seen  the  signs  of  sore 
sickness  on  Flora's  face,  but  the  morning  light 
undeceived  him,  and  he  was  sadly  dashed. 

"You  will  be  fery  tired  after  your  long 
journey,  Flora,  and  it  iss  good  for  you  to 
rest.  There  is  a  man  in  the  clachan  I  am 
wanting  to  see,  and  he  will  maybe  be  comin' 
back  with  me." 

When  Lachlan  reached  his  place  of  prayer,  he 
lay  on  the  ground  and  cried,  "  Have  mercy  on 
me,  O  Lord,  and  spare  her  for  Thy  servant's  sake, 
and  let  me  not  lose  her  after  Thou  hast  brought 
her  back  and  hast  opened  my  heart.  .  .  .  Take 
her  not  till  she  has  seen  that  I  love  her.  .  .  . 
Give  me  time  to  do  her  kindness  for  the  past 
wherein  I  oppressed  her.  ...  O,  turn  away  Thy 
judgment  on  my  hardness,  and  let  not  the  child 
suffer  for  her  father's  sins."  Then  he  arosp  and 
hastened  for  the  doctor. 

It  was  afternoon  before  Dr  MacLure  could 
come,  but  the  very  sight  of  his  face,  which  was  as 
the  sun  in  its  strength,  let  light  into  the  room 
where  Lachlan  sat  at  the  bedside  holding  Flora's 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  149 

hand,  and  making  woful  pretence  that  she  was 
not  ill. 

"  VVcel,  Flora,  yeVe  got  back  frae  yir  vcesits, 
and  a'  tell  ye  we've  a'  missed  ye  maist  terrible. 
A'  doot  thae  sooth  country  fouk  haena  been 
feeding  ye  ower  weel,  or  maybe  it  was  the  toon 
air.  It  never  agrees  wi'  me.  A'm  half  chokit  a' 
the  time  a'm  in  Glesgie,  and  as  for  London, 
there's  ower  mony  fouk  tae  the  square  yaird  for 
health." 

All  the  time  he  was  busy  at  his  work,  and  no 
man  could  do  it  better  or  quicker,  although  the 
outside  of  him  was  not  encouraging. 

"  Lachlan,  what  are  ye  traivellin'  in  and  oot  there 
for  with  a  face  that  wud  sour  milk  ?  What  ails 
ye,  man  ?  ye're  surely  no  imaginin'  Flora's  gaein' 
to  leave  ye  ? 

"Lord's  sake,  it's  maist  provokin'  that  if  a 
body  hes  a  bit  whup  o'  illness  in  Drumtochty, 
their  freends  tak  tae  propheseein'  deith." 

Lachlan  had  crept  over  to  Flora's  side,  and 
both  were  waiting. 

"  Na,  na ;  ye  ken  a'  never  tell  lees  like  the 
graund  ceety  doctors,  and  a'll  warrant  Flora  'ill 


/    ! 
,   I 

,'  J 


ISO 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


^' 


be  in  kirk  afore  Martinmas,  an'  kiltin'  up  the 
braes  as  hardy  as  a  hiclan'  shcltie  by  the  new 
year." 

Flora  puts  an  arm  round  her  father's  neck,  and 
draws  down  his  face  to  hers,  but  the  doctor  is 
looking  another  way. 

"  Dinna  fash  wi'  medicine  ;  gie  her  plenty  C 
fresh  milk  and  plenty  o'  air.  There's  nae  leevin' 
for  a  doctor  wi'  that  Drumtochty  air  ;  it  hasna  a 
marra  in  Scotland.  It  starts  frac  the  Moray 
Firth  and  sweeps  doon  Badenoch,  and  comes 
ower  the  moor  o'  Rannoch  and  across  the 
Grampians.  There's  the  salt  o'  the  sea,  and  the 
caller  air  o'  the  hills,  and  the  smell  o'  the  heather, 
and  the  bloom  o*  mony  a  flower  in't.  If  there's 
nae  disease  in  the  organs  o'  the  body,  a  puff  o' 
Drumtochty  air  wud  bring  back  a  man  frae  the 
gates  o'  dcith." 

"  You  hef  made  two  hearts  glad  this  day, 
Doctor  MacLure,"  said  Lachlan,  outside  the  door, 
"and  I  am  ^'ailing  you  Barnabas." 

"Ye've  ca'd  me  waur  names  than  that  in  yir 
time,"  and  the  doctor  mounted  his  horse.  "  It's 
dune  me  a  warld  o'  guid  tae  see  Flora  in  her 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  ,5, 

hame  again,  and  I'll  gie  Marget  Howe  a  cry 
in  passin'  and  send  her  up  tac  hac  a  crack,  for 
there's  no  a  wiser  wumman  in  the  glen." 

When  Marget  came,  Flora  told  her  the  history 
of  her  letter. 

"  It  wass  a  beautiful  night  in   London,  but  I 
will  be  thinking  that  there  iss  no  living  person 
caring  whether  I  die  or  live,  and  I  wass  con- 
sidering  how  I  could  die,  for  there  is  nothing  so 
hopeless  as  to  hef  no  friend  in  a  great  city.     It 
iss  often  that  I  hef  been  alone  on  the  moor,  and 
no  man  within  miles,  but  I  wass  never  lonely,  oh 
no,  I  had  plenty  of  good  company.     I  would  sit 
down  beside  a  burn,  and  the  trout  will  swim  out 
from  below  a  stone,  and  the  cattle  will  come  to 
drink,  and   the  muirfowl  will  be  crying  to  each 
other,  and  the  sheep  will  be  bleating,  oh  yes,  and 
there  are  the  bees  all  round,  and  a  string  of  wild 
ducks  above  your  head.     It  iss  a  busy  place  a 
moor,  and  a  safe  place  too,  for  there  is  not  one  of 
the  animals  will  hurt  you.      No,  the  big  high- 
landers  will  only  look  at  you  and  go  away  to 
their  pasture.     But  it  iss  weary  to  be  in  London 
and  no  one  to  speak  a  kind  word  to  you,  and  I 


)| 


*'i 


V, 

1 
( 

/ 

'  ^ 

•f 

■1 . 

i 

' 

i5« 


I.ACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


will  be  looking  at  the  crowd  that  is  always ' 
passing,  and  I  will  not  see  one  kent  face,  and 
when  I  looked  in  at  the  lighted  windows  the 
people  were  all  sitting  round  the  table,  but  there 
wass  no  place  for  me.  Millions  and  millions  of 
people,  and  not  one  to  say  *  Flora,'  and  not  one 
sore  heart  if  I  died  that  night.  Then  a  strange 
thing  happened,  as  you  will  be  considering,  but 
it  iss  good  to  be  a  Highlander,  for  we  see  visions. 
You  maybe  k"ow  that  a  wounded  deer  will  try  to 
hide  herself,  and  I  crept  into  the  shadow  of  a 
church,  and  wept.  Then  the  people  and  the 
noise  and  the  houses  passed  away  like  the  mist 
on  the  hill,  and  I  wass  walking  to  the  kirk  with 
my  father,  oh  yes,  and  I  saw  you  all  in  your 
places,  and  I  heard  the  Psalms,  and  I  could  see 
through  the  window  the  green  fields  and  the 
trees  on  the  edge  of  the  moor.  And  I  saw  my 
home,  with  the  dogs  before  the  door,  and  the 
flowers  that  I  planted,  and  the  lamb  coming 
for  her  mik,  and  I  heard  myself  singing,  and  I 
awoke.  But  there  wass  singing,  oh  yes,  and 
beautiful  too,  for  the  dark  church  wass  open,  and 
the  light  wass  falling  over  my  head  from  the  face 


m^L^^ 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER  153 

of  the  Virgin  Mary.  When  I  arose,  she  wass 
looking  down  at  me  in  the  darkness,  and  ther  J 
knew  that  there  wass  service  in  the  church,  .:!d 
this  wass  the  hymn — 

"  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood." 

• 

So  I  went  in  and  sat  down  at  the  door.     The 
sermon   wass  on  the  Prodigal  Son,  but  there  iss 
only  one   word    I    remember.       'You    are    not 
forgfocten  or  cast  off,'  the  preacher  said  ;  'you  are 
missed,'  and  then  he  will  come  back  to  it  again, 
and    it    wass    always   'missed,    missed,   missed.' 
Sometimes  he  will  say, '  If  you  had  a  plant,  and 
you  had  taken  great  care  of  it,  and  it  was  stolen, 
would  you  not  miss  it  ? '     And  I  will  be  thinking 
of  my  geraniums,  and  saying  '  yes  '  in  my  heart. 
And   then  he  will   go  on,  '  If  a  shepherd  wass 
counting   his   sheep,  and    there  wass   one  short, 
does  he  not  go  out  to  the  hill  and  seek  for  it  ? ' 
and  I  will  see  my  father  coming  back  with  that 
lamb  that  lost  its  mother.     My  heart  wass  melting 
within  me,  but  he  will   still  be   pleading,  '  If  a 
father  had  a  child,  and  she  leu   her  home  and 
lost  herself  in  the  wicked  city,  she  will  still  be 


I'i. 


i,\ 


h 


4  I    . 


154  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 

remembered  in  the  old  house,  and  her  chair  will 
be  there,'  and  I  will  be  seeing  m^  father  all  alone 
with  the  Bible  before  him,  and  the  dogs  will  lay 
their  heads  on  his  knee,  but  there  iss  no  Flora. 
So  I  slipped  out  into  the  darkness  and  cried 
'  Father,*  but  I  could  not  go  back,  and  I  knew 
not  what  to  do.     But  this  wass  ever  in  my  ear, 

*  missed,'  and  I  wass  wondering  if  God  will  be 
thinking  of  me.  *  Perhaps  there  may  be  a  sign,' 
I  said,  and  I  went  to  my  room,  and  I  saw  the 
letter.  It  wass  not  long  before  I  will  be  m  the 
train,  and  all  the  night  I  held  your  letter  in  my 
hand,  and  when  I  wass  afraid  I  will  read  '  Your 
father  loves  you  more  than  efer,'  and  I  will  say, 
'  This  is  my  warrant'  Oh  yes,  and  God  wass  very 
food  to  me,  and  I  did  not  want  for  friends  all 
the  way  home. 

"  The  English  guard  noticed  me  cry,  and  he 
will  take  care  of  me  all  the  night,  and  see  me  off 
at  Muirtown,  and  this  iss  what  he  will  say  as  the 
train  wass   leaving,  in   his  cheery  English  way, 

*  Keep  up  your  heart,  lass,  there's  a  good  time 
coming,'  and  Peter  Bruce  will  be  waiting  for  me 
^t  the   Junction,   and   a  gentle   man   iss    Peter 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER 


IS5 


Bruce,  and  Maister  Moncur  will  be  singing  a 
psalm  to  keep  up  my  heart,  and  I  will  see  the 
light,  and  then  I  will  know  that  the  Lord  hass 
had  mercy  upon  me.  That  iss  all  I  have  to  tell 
you,  Marget,  for  the  rest  I  will  be  saying  to 
God." 

•'  But  there  iss  something  I  must  be  telling," 
said  Lachlan,  coming  in,  "  and  it  is  not  easy." 

He  brought  over  the  Bible  and  opened  it  at 
the  family  register  where  his  daughter's  name 
had  been  erased;  then  he  laid  it  down  before 
Flora,  and  bowed  h's  head  on  the  bed. 

"  Will  you  ever  be  able  to  forgive  your  father?" 

•'  Give  me  the  pen,  Marget ;  "  and  Flora  wrote 
for  a  minute,  but  Lachlan  never  moved. 

When  he  lifted  his  head,  this  was  what  he  read 
in  a  vacant  space  : — 

Flora  Campbiclu 

Missed  April  1873. 

Found  September  1873. 

••Her  father  tell  on  her  neck  and  kissed  her." 


It 


/J 


f\ 


IV 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD 


r  'i! 


Drumtochty  made  up  its  mind  slowly  upon 
any  new-comer,  and  for  some  time  looked  into 
the  far  distance  when  his  name  was  mentioned. 
He  himself  was  struck  with  the  studied  indifference 
of  the  parish,  and  lived  under  the  delusion  that 
he  had  escaped  notice.  Perhaps  he  might  have 
felt  uncomfortable  if  he  had  suspected  that  he 
was  under  a  microscope,  and  the  keenest  eyes  in 
the  country  were  watching  every  movement  at 
kirk  and  market.  His  knowledge  of  theology, 
his  preference  in  artificial  manures,  his  wife's 
Sabbath  dress,  his  skill  in  cattle,  and  his  manner 
in  the  Kildrummie  train,  went  as  evidence  in  the 
case,  and  were  duly  weighed.  Some  morning 
the  floating  opinion  suddenly  crystallized  in  the 
kirkyard,  and  there  is  only  one  historical  instance 


lA 


if. 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD  157 

in  which  judgment  was  reversed.  It  was  a  strong 
proof  of  Lachlan  Campbell's  individuality  that  he 
impressed  himself  twice  on  the  parish,  and  each 
time  with  a  marked  adjective. 

Lachlan  had  been  superintending  the  theology 
of  the  glen  and  correcting  our  ignorance  from  an 
unapproachable  height  for  two  years  before  the 
word  went  forth,  but  the  glen  had  been  thinking. 

"  Lachlan  is  a  carefu'  shepherd  and  fine  wi'  the 
ewes  at  the  lambing  time,  there's  nae  doot  o'  that, 
but  a'  canna  thole  (bear)  himsel'.  Ye  wud  think 
there  was  nae  releegion  in  the  parish  till  he  came 
frae  Auchindarroch.     What  say  ye,  Domsie  ?  " 

"Campbell's  a  censorious  body,  Drumsheugh," 
and  Domsie  shut  his  snuff-box  lid  with  a  snap. 

Drumsheugh  nodded  to  the  fathers  of  our 
commonwealth,  and  they  went  into  kirk  with 
silent  satisfaction.  Lachlan  had  been  classified, 
and  Peter  Bruce,  who  prided  himself  on  keeping 
in  touch  with  Drumtochty,  passed  the  word  round 
the  Kildrummie  train  next  market  night 

"Ye  haena  that  censorious  body,  Lachlan 
Campbell,  wi'  ye  the  nicht,"  thrusting  his  head  in 
on  the  thirds. 


Ufi- 


.1    ! 


I  j! 

'  til 


'5? 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


"There's  naething  Peter  disna  ken,"  Hillocks 
remarked  with  admiration  afterwards;  "he's  as 
gude  as  the  Advcrtiserr 

When  Flora  had  come  home,  and  Drumtochty 
resumed  freedom  of  criticism,  I  noticed  for  the 
first  time  a  certain  vacillation  in  its  treatment 
of  Lachlan. 

"  He's  pluckit  up  his  speerit  maist  extraordinar," 
Hillocks  explained,  "and  he  whuppit  by  me  like 
a  three  year  auld  laist  Sabbath. 

"  *  I'm  glad  tae  hear  the  Miss  is  comin'  roond 
fine,*  says  L 

"  *  Its  the  fouk  o'  Drumtochty  hcs  made  her 
weel.  God  bless  you,  for  you  hev  done  good  for 
evil,'  and  wi'  that  he  was  aff  afore  I  cud  fin'  a  word. 

"  He's  changed,  the  body,  some  wy  or  ither, 
and  there's  a  kind  o'  warmth  aboot  him  ye  canna 
get  ower." 

Next  day  I  turned  into  Mrs.  Macfadyen's 
cottage  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  the  smack  of  that 
wise  woman's  conversation,  but  was  not  p.ble  to  pass 
the  inner  door  for  the  sight  which  met  my  eyes. 

Lachlan  was  sitting  on  a  chair  in  the  middle  of 
the   kitchen   with    Elsie,   Mrs.    Macfadyen's   pet 


ik 


i  ■> 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD 


159 


1 


child,  on  his  knee,  and  their  heads  so  close 
together  that  his  white  hair  was  mingling  with 
her  burnished  gold.  An  odour  of  peppermint 
floated  out  at  the  door,  and  Elsie  was  explaining 
to  Lachlan,  for  his  guidance  at  the  shop,  that  the 
round  drops  were  a  better  bargain  than  the  black 
and  white  rock. 

When  Lachlan  had  departed,  with  gracious 
words  on  his  lips  and  a  very  sticky  imprint  on 
his  right  cheek,  I  settled  down  in  the  big  chair, 
beyond  the  power  of  speech,  and  Mrs.  Macfiidyen 
opened  the  mystery. 

"Ye  may  weel  look,  for  twa  month  syne  I 
wudna  hae  believed  this  day,  though  a'  hed  seen 
him  wi'  ma  ain  een. 

"  It  was  juist  this  time  laist  year  that  he  cam 
here  on  his  elder's  veesitation,  and  he  catches  the 
bairn  in  this  verra  kitchen. 

"'Elspeth,'  says  he — it  was  Elsie  the  day,  ye 
mind — '  div  ye  ken  that  ye're  an  orccginal  sinner  ? ' 
"  It  was  nichtfa'  afore  she  got  over  the  fricht, 
and  when  she  saw  him  on  the  road  next  Sabbath, 
she  cooried  in  ahint  ma  goon,  and  cried  till  I 
thocht  her  hert  wud  break. 


15 


i6o 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


r: 


!  If^ 


"  *  It's  mecserablc  vvark  for  Christ's  Elder,'  says 
Jeems,  *  tae  put  the  fear  o'  death  on  a  bairn,  and 
a'm  thinkin'  he  vvudna  get  mucklc  thanks  frae  his 
Maister  if  He  wcs  here,'  and  Jeems  wasna  far 
wrong,  though,  of  course,  a'  told  him  tae  keep  a 
quiet  sough,  and  no  conter  the  elder. 

"Weel,  I  sees  Lachlan  comin'  up  the  road  the 
day,  and  a'  ran  oot  to  catch  Elsie  and  hide  her  in 
the  byre.  But  a'  micht  hae  saved  mysel'  the 
trouble :  afore  I  got  tae  the  gairden  gate  they 
were  coming  up  as  chief  (friendly)  as  ye  like,  and 
Lachlan  wes  calling  Elsie  his  bonnie  dawtie. 

"  If  he  hadna  a  pock  o'  peppermints — but  it 
wesna  that  wiled  Elsie's  hert.  Na,  na,  dogs  and 
bairns  can  read  fouks'  faces,  and  mak  nae  mistakes. 
As  sune  as  a'  saw  Lachlan 's  een  a'  kent  he  wes  a 
new  man. 

"  Hoo  has  it  come  about  ?  That's  easy  tae 
guess.  Sax  months  syne  Lachlan  didna  ken 
what  father  meant,  and  the  heart  wes  wizened  in 
the  breist  o'  him  wi'  pride  an'  diveenity. 

"  He  kens  noo,  and  a'm  jalousing  that  nae  man 
can  be  a  richt  father  tae  his  ain  without  being  sib 
(akin)  tae  every  bairn  he  sees.     It  wes  Flora  he 


^ 


I 


i 


AS  A  LITTLK  CHILD  x6i 

was  dawting  (petting)  ye  see  the  day,  and  he's 
learned  his  trade  wecl,  though  it  cost  him  a  sair 
lesson." 

Wonderful  stories  circulated  through  the  glen, 
and  were  told  in  the  kirkyard  of  a  Sabbath 
morning,  concerning  the  transformation  of  Lachlan 
Campbell. 

"  Ane  o'  ma  wee  lassies,  expatiated  Domsie,  fell 
comin'  doon  the  near  road  fnic  VVhinnie  Knowe, 
and  cuttit  her  cheek  on  the  stones,  and  if  Lachlan 
didna  wash  her  face  and  comfort  her;  an'  mair, 
he  carried  her  a'  the  road  tae  the  schule,  and  says' 
he  in  his  Hieland  way,  ♦  Here  iss  a  brave  little 
woman  that  hass  hurt  herself,  but  she  will  not  be 
crying,'  and  he  gave  her  a  kiss  and  a  penny  tae 
buy  some  sweeties  at  the  shop.     It  minded  me  o' 
the    Gude    Samaritan,    fouks,"    and    everybody 
understood  that  Lachlan   had  captured  Domsie 
for  life. 

"It  beats  a'  things,"  said   VVhinnie;   "a'canna 

mak'  oot  what's  come  ower  the  cratur.     There's  a 

puckle  o'  the  upland   bairns  pass  oor  wy  frae 

schule,  and  whiles  Lachlan  'ill  meet  them  when 

he's  aifter  his  sheep,  and  as  sure  as  a'm  stannin' 

L 


r. 


.|..-i!! 


l63 


LAC ULAN  CAMPBELL 


fii 


1r 


here,  he  'ill  lay  aff  stories  aboot  battles  and 
fairies,  till  the  laddies  'ill  hardly  gae  hamc.  I 
wes  telling  Marget  this  verra  mornin',  and  she 
says,  'Lachlan's  become  as  a  liitle  child.'  I 
dinna  baud  wi'  her  there,  but  a  quieter,  mair 
cautious  body  ye  never  saw." 

Drumtochty  was  doing  its  best  to  focus  Lachlan 
afresh,  and  folt  the  responsibility  lay  on  Domsie, 
who  accepted  it  cheerfully. 

"  Margct's  aye  richt,  neebours,  and  she's  put  the 
wora  on  it  noo.  His  tribble  hes  melted  Lachlan's 
heart,  an' — it's  in  the  Evangel,  ye  ken — he's 
become  as  a  little  child." 

This  language  was  too  figurative  and  imposing 
for  the  parish,  but  it  ran  henceforward  in  our 
modest  speech,  "  He's  a  cautious  body."  Cautious, 
with  us,  meant  unassuming,  kindly  obliging,  as 
well  as  much  more ;  and  I  still  hear  Drumsheugh 
pronouncing  this  final  judgment  of  the  glen  on 
Lachlan  as  we  parted  at  his  grave  ten  years  later, 
and  adding,  "  He  'ill  be  sair  missed  by  the  bairns." 

While  the  glen  was  readjusting  itself  to  Lachlan, 
I  came  down  from  a  long  tramp  on  the  moor,  and 
intended  to  inquire  for  Flora.     But  I  was  arrested 


AS  A  LITTLE  CIIILD 


163 


on  the  step  by  the  sound  of  Lachlan's  voice  in 
family  worship. 

"  This  my  son  was  dead,  and  is  ah've  again  ;  he 
was  lost,  and  is  found.  And  they  began  to  be 
merry." 

Lachlan's  voice  trembled  as  he  read,  but  he 
went  on  with  much  firmness  : 

"  Now  his  elder  son  was  in  the  field." 

"You  will  not  be  reading  more  of  that  chapter, 
father,"  interrupted  Flora,  with  a  new  note  of 
authority. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  Lachlan,  quite  humbly. 

"  Because  you  will  be  calling  yourself  the  elder 
son  and  many  more  bad  names,  and  I  will  be 
angry  with  you." 

"  But  they  are  true  names,  and  it  iss  good  for 
me  to  know  myself." 

"  You  hef  just  one  true  name,  and  that  iss  father. 
.  ,      And  now  you  will  be  singing  a  psalm." 

"  There  iss  a  book  of  himes  (hymns)  here,  and 
maybe  you  will  be  liking  one  of  them." 

And  Lachlan  produced  the  little  book  Flora 
got  in  that  London  church  when  the  preacher  told 
her  she  was  missed. 


164 


I.ACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


li'       I 


••  We  will  not  sing  hymns,  father,  for  I  am 
remembering  that  you  hef  a  conscience  against 
hymns,  and  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  that 
book." 

"  My  conscience  was  sometimes  better  than  the 
Bible,  Flora,  and  if  God  will  be  sending  a  hime  to 
bind  up  your  heart  when  it  wass  broken,  it  iss 
your  father  that  w  ill  be  wanting  to  sing  that  hime. 

'•  It  iss  here,"  continued  Lachlan  in  triumph, 
"  for  I  hef  often  been  reading  that  hime,  and  I  am 
not  seeing  much  wrong  in  it." 

"  But  each  hymn  hass  got  its  own  tune,  father, 
and  you  will  not  know  the  way  that  it  goes,  and 
the  doctor  will  not  be  wishing  me  to  sing." 

"  You  are  a  good  girl.  Flora,  but  you  are 
not  so  clever  as  your  father,  oh  no,  for  I  hef 
been  trying  that  hime  on  the  hill,  and  it  will  sing 
beautiful  to  a  Psalm  tune.  You  will  lie  still  and 
hear." 

Then  Lachlan  lifted  up  his  voice  in  "  French," 


"  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood. 
Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins, 
And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  flood 
Lose  all  their  guilty  stains." 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILI) 


165 


The  singing  was  fairly  pood,  with  a  whisper 
from  Flora,  till  they  came  to  that  verse : 

"  Then  in  a  nobler,  sweeter  song 
I'll  sing  Thy  power  to  save, 
When  this  poor  lisping,  stammering  tongue 
Lies  silent  in  the  grave," 

when  Lachlan  seemed  to  lose  the  tune,  and  be 
falling  into  a  coronach. 

"  We  must  not  be  singing  that  to-day,  father,  for 
God  is  fery  good  to  us,  and  I  will  be  stronger 
every  week,  and  maybe  you  will  be  saying  that 
we  are  thankful  in  your  prayer." 

Then  I  realised  my  baseness,  and  went  off  on 
tiptoe  (had  the  dogs  been  at  home  it  had  not  been 
so  easy  to  escape);  but  first  I  heard,  "Our 
Father."  It  was  a  new  word  for  Lachlan  ;  he  used 
to  say  Jehovah. 

The  doctor  paid  his  last  visit  one  frosty  winter 
day,  and  was  merciless  on  Lachlan. 

''  What  for  are  ye  cockering  up  this  lassie,  and 
no  getting  her  doon  tae  the  kirk  ?  its  clean  dis- 
gracefu'  in  an  Elder,  and  if  I  were  yir  minister  a' 


It- 


lU  \ 


i66 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


:^  r 


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ri':' 


f   < 


wud  hae  ye  sessioned.     Sail,  ye're  hard  enough  on 
ither  fouk  that  are  no  kirk  greedy." 

"You  will  not  be  speaking  that  way  next 
Sabbath,  for  it  iss  in  her  pew  Flora  will  be 
•sitting  with  her  fatt -r,"  said  Lachlan,  in  great 
spirits. 

Flora  caught  him  studying  her  closely  for  some 
days,  as  if  he  were  taking  her  measure,  and  he 
announced  that  he  had  business  in  Muirtown  on 
Friday. 

When  he  came  up  in  the  market  train  he  was 
carrying  a  large  paper  parcel,  and  attempted  a 
joke  with  Peter  at  a  window  of  the  third.  From 
a  critical  point  of  view  it  was  beneath  notice,  but 
as  Lachlan's  first  effort  it  was  much  tasted. 

"  Ye  'ill  believe  me  noo,  Petct,  since  yeVe  heard 
him.  Did  ye  ever  see  sic  a  change?  it's  maist 
astonishin'." 

"Man,  Hillocks,  div  ye  no  see  he's  gotten 
back  his  dochter,  and  it's  made  him  anither 
man?" 

Lachlan  showed  Flora  a  new  pair  of  shears  he 
had  bought  in  Muirtown,  and  a  bottle  of  sheep 
embrocation,  but  she  did  not  know  he  had  hidden 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD 


167 


his  parcel  in  the  byre,  and  that  he  opened  it  four 
separate  times  on  Saturday. 

From  daybreak  on  Sabbath  Lachlan  went  in 
and  out  till  he  returned  with  Marget  Howe. 

"  Mrs  Howe  iss  very  kind,  and  she  will  be  com- 
ing to  he'  you  with  your  dresses,  Flora,  for  we 
willbe  •  ,  ing  you  to  look  well  this  day,  and 
here  is  some  small  thing  to  keep  you  warm,"  and 
Lachlan  produced  with  unspeakable  pride  a  jacket 
lined  with  flannel  and  trimmed  with  fur. 

So  her  father  and  Marget  dressed  Flora  for  the 
kirk,  and  they  went  together  down  the  path  on 
which  the  light  had  shc^e  that  night  of  her 
return. 

There  were  only  two  dog-carts  in  the  Free 
Kirk  Session,  and  Burnbrae  was  waiting  with 
his  for  Flora  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

"  I  bid  ye  welcome,  Flora,  in  the  name  o'  oor 
kirk.  It's  a  gled  day  for  your  father,  and  for 
us  a'  tae  see  you  back  again  and  strong.  And  noo 
ye  'ill  just  get  up  aside  me  in  the  front,  and 
Mistress  Hoo  'ill  hap  ye  round,  for  we  maunna 
let  ye  come  tae  ony  ill  the  first  day  yir  oot,  or  we 
'ill  never  hear  the  end  o't."     And  so  the  honest 


i 


i'l 


1 68 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


Mi 


man  went  on,  for  he  was  as  near  the  breaking  as 
Drumtochty  nature  allowed. 

"  A'  body's  pleased,"  said  Marget  to  Lachlan 
as  they  sat  on  the  back  seat  and  caught  the  faces 
of  the  people.  "  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen 
the  fifteenth  of  Luke  in  Drumtochty.  It's  a 
bonnie  sicht,  and  a'm  thinkin'  its  still  bonnier  in 
ti.e  presence  o*  the  angels." 

"  Flora  Cammil's  in  the  kirk  the  day,"  and  the 
precentor  looked  at  Carmichael  with  expectation. 
"The  fouk  a;e  terrible  taen  up  \vi'  Lachlan  and  her." 

"  What  do  ye  think  of  the  hundred  and  third 
Fsalm,  Robert  ?     It  would  go  well  this  morning." 

"  The  verra  word  that  was  on  rny  lips,  and 
Lachlan  'ill  be  lookin'  for  Coleshtlj  " 

Lachlan  had  put  Flora  in  his  old  place  next 
tl.e  wall  (he  would  not  need  it  again,  having 
retired  from  the  office  of  inquisitor),  and  sat  close 
beside  her,  with  great  contentment  on  his  face. 
The  manners  of  Drumtochty  were  perfect,  and  no 
one  turned  his  head  by  one  inch  ;  but  Margct 
Howe,  sitting  behind  in  Burnbrae's  pew,  saw 
Flora's  hand  go  out  to  Lachlan's  as  the  people 
sang  : 


; 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD  169 

"  All  thine  iniquities  who  doth 
Most  graciously  forgive, 
Who  thy  diseases  all  and  pains 
Doth  heal  aud  thee  relieve." 

The  Session  met  that  week,  and  a  young  girl 
broke  down  utterly  in  her  examination  for  the 
Sacrament,  so  that  not  even  Burnbrae  could  get 
a  correct  answer. 

She  rose  in  great  confusion  and  sor-ow. 

"  A'  see  it  wudna  be  fit  for  the  like  o'  me  tae 
gae  forrit,  but  a'  had  set  ma  hert  on't ;  it  wcs  the 
last  thing  He  askit  o'  His  freends,"  and  she  left 
before  any  one  could  bid  her  stay. 

"  Moderator,"  said  Lachlan,  "  it  is  a  great  joy 
for  me  to  move  that  Mary  Macfarlane  get  her 
token,  and  I  will  be  wishing  that  we  all  had  her 
warrant,  oh  yes,  for  there  iss  no  warrant  like  love. 
And  there  iss  something  that  I  must  be  asking  of 
the  elders,  and  it  iss  to  forgive  me  for  my  pride 
in  this  Session.  I  wass  thinking  that  J  knew 
more  than  dny  man  in  Drumtochty,  and  wass 
judging  God's  people.  But  He  hass  had  mercy 
upon  Simon  the  Pharisee,  and  you  hef  all  been 
very  good  to  me  and  Flora.  ...  The  Scripture 


lyo 


LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


hass  been  fulfilled, '  So  the  last  shall  be  first,  and 
the  first  last.'" 

Then  the  minister  asked  Burnbrae  to  pray, 
and  the  Spirit  descended  on  that  good  man,  of 
simple  heart : 


;-     i 


I 


"Almichty  Father,  we  are  a'  Thy  puJr  and 
sinfu'  bairns,  wha  wcttiied  o'  hame  and  gaed  awa' 
intae  the  far  country.  Forgive  us,  for  we  didna 
ken  what  we  were  leavin'  or  the  sair  hert  we  gied 
oor  Father.  vves  weary  wark  tae  live  wi'  cor 

sins,  but  we  wud  never  hev  come  back  had  it  no 
been  for  oor  Elder  Brither.  He  cam'  a  lonjr 
road  tae  find  us,  and  a  sore  travail  He  had  afore 
He  set  us  free.  He's  been  a  gude  Brither  tae  us, 
and  we've  been  a  heavy  chairge  tae  Him.  May 
He  keep  a  firm  hand  o'  us,  and  guide  us  in  the 
richt  road,  and  bring  us  back  gin  we  wander,  and 
tell  us  a'  we  need  tae  know  till  the  gloamin'  come. 
Gither  us  in  then,  we  pray  Thee,  and  a'  we  luve, 
no  a  bairn  missin',  and  may  we  sit  doon  for  ever 
in  oor  ain  Father's  House.     Amen." 


As  Burnbrae  said  Amen,  Carmichael  opened 


t! 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD 


171 


his  eyes,  and  had  a  vision  which  will  remain  with 
him  until  the  day  break  and  the  shadows  flee 
away. 

The  six  elders — three  small  farmers,  a  tailor,  a 
stonemason,  and  a  shepherd — were  standing  be- 
neath the  lamp,  and  the  light  fell  like  a  halo  on 
their  bent  heads.  That  poor  little  vestry  had 
disappeared,  and  this  present  world  was  forgotten. 
The  sons  of  God  had  come  into  their  heritage, 
"  for  the  things  which  are  seen  are  temporal,  but 
the  things  which  are  not  seen  are  eternal." 


.■ 


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THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF 
DRUMTOCHTY 


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THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF 
DRUMTOCHTY 

Speech  in  Drumtochty  distilled  slowly,  drop  by 
drop,  and  the  faces  of  our  men  were  carved  in 
stone.  Visitors,  without  discernment,  used  to 
pity  our  dulncss  and  lay  themselves  out  for 
missionary  work.  Before  their  month  was  over 
they  spoke  bitterly  of  us,  as  if  we  had  deceived 
the.n,  and  departed  wilh  a  grudge  in  their  hearts. 
When  Hillocks  scandalised  the  Glen  by  lotting 
hi.s  house  and  living  in  the  bothie — through  sheer 
greed  of  money  it  was  taken  by  s  fussy  little 
man  from  the  South,  whose  control  over  the 
letter  "h"  was  uncertain,  but  whose  scUlqi}' 
fidence  bordered  on  the  miraculous.  As  a 
deacon  of  the  Social  Religionists, — a  new  de- 
nominaiion,  which  had  made  an  'it  with  Sunday 
Entertainments,— and   Chairman    of   the   Amal- 


\'' 


'I  * 


176  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 


If 


gamated  Sons  of  Rest, — a  society  of  persons  with 
conscientious  objections  to  work  between  meals — 
lie  was  horrified  at  the  primeval  simplicity  of  the 
Glen,  where  no  meeting  of  protest  had  been  held 
in  the  memory  of  living  man,  and  the  ministers 
preached  from  the  Bible.  It  was  understood  that 
he  was  to  do  his  best  for  us,  and  there  was 
curiosity  in  the  kirkyard. 

"  Whatna  like  man  is  that  English  veesitor 
ye've  got,  Hillocks  ?  a'  hear  he's  fleein'  ower  the 
Glen,  yammerin*  and  haverin'  like  a  starlin'." 

"  He's  a  gabby  (talkative)  body,  Drumshcugh, 
there's  nae  doot  o'  that,  but  terrible  ignorant. 

"  Says  he  tae  me  nae  later  than  yesterday, 
^  That's  a  fine  field  o'  barley  ye've  there,  Maister 
Harris,'  an'  as  sure  as  deith  a'  didna  ken  whaur 
tae  luik,  for  it  was  a  puckle  aits." 

"  Keep's  a',"  said  Whinnie ;  "  he's  been  awfu' 
negleckit  when  he  wes  a  bairn,  or  maybe  there's  a 
want  in  the  puir  cratur." 

Next  Sabbath  Mr.  Urijah  Hopps  appeared  in 
person  among  the  fathers — who  looked  at  each 
other  over  his  head — and  enlightened  them  on 
supply  and  demand,  the  Game   Laws,  the  pro^ 


<  ij 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 


177 


i 


J 


duction  of  cabbages  for  towns,  the  iniquity  of  an 
Established  Church,  and  the  bad  metre  of  the 
Psahns  of  David. 

"You  must  'ave  henterprise,  or  it's  hall  hup 
with  you  farmers." 

"Ay,  ay,"  responded  Druinsheugh,  after  a  long 
pause,  and  then  every  man  concentrated  his 
attention  on  the  belfry  of  the  kirk. 

"  Is  there  onything  ava'  in  the  b(  dy,  think  ye, 
Domsie,"  as  Mr.  Hopps  bustled  into  kirk,  "  or  is't 
a' wind?" 

"  Three  wechtfu's  o'  naething,  Drumsheugh  ;  a' 
peety  the  puir  man  if  Jamie  Soutar  gets  a  haud 
o'  him." 

Jamie  was  the  cynic  of  tb  i   Glen— who   had 

pricked    many   a   wind    bag — and   there   was   a 

general  feeling  that  his  meeting  with  Mr.  Hopi).s 

would    not    be   devoid   of   interest.      When    he 

showed  himself  anxious  to  learn  next  Sabbath, 

any  man   outside  Drumtochty  might  have  been 

deceived,  for  Jamie  could  withdraw  every  sign  of 

intelligence  from  his  face,  as  when  shutters  close 

upon  a  shop  wii  dow.     Our  visitor  fell  at  once  into 

the  trap,  and  made  things  plain  to  the  meanest 

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178  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCIITY 

capacity,  until  Jamie  elicited  from  the  guileless 
Southron  that  he  had  never  heard  of  the  Act  of 
Union ;  that  Adam  Smith  was  a  new  book  he  hoped 
to  buy ;  that  he  did  not  know  the  difference 
between  an  Arniinian  and  a  Calvinist,  and  that 
he  supposed  the  Confession  of  F'aith  was  invented 
in  Edinburgh.  This  in  the  briefest  space  of  time, 
and  by  way  of  information  to  Drumtochty. 
James  was  making  for  general  literature,  and  had 
still  agriculture  in  reserve,  when  Drumshcugh  in- 
tervened in  the  humanity  of  his  heart. 

A'  dinna  like  tae  interrupt  yir  conversation, 
Maister  Hopps,  but  it's  no  verra  safe  for  ye  tafi 
be  stannin'  here  sae  lang.  Oor  air  hes  a  bit  nip 
in't,  and  is  mair  searchin'  than  doon  Sooth. 
Jamie  'ill  be  speirin'  a'  mornin'  gin  ye  'ill  answer 
him,  but  a'm  thinkin'  ye'ill  be  warmer  in  the  kirk." 

And  Drumsheugh  escorted  Mr.  Hopps  to  cover, 
who  began  to  suspect  that  he  had  been  turned 
inside  out,  and  found  wanting. 

Drumtochty  had  listened  with  huge  delight, 
but  without  a  trace  of  expression,  and,  on  Mr. 
Hopps  reaching  shelter,  three  boxes  were  offered 
Tamie. 


4 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY  179 

The  group  was  still  lost  in  admiration  when 
Drumsheugh  returned  from  his  errand  of  mercy. 

"Sail,  yeVe  dune  the  job  this  time,  Jamie. 
Ye're  an  awfu'  creetic.  Yon  man  'ill  keep  a  quiet 
cheep  till  he  gets  Sooth.  It  passes  me  hoc  a 
body  wi'  sae  little  in  him  hes  the  face  tae  open 
his  mooth." 

"Ye  did  it  v/eel,  Jamie,"  Domsie  added,  "a 
clean  furrow  frae  end  tae  end." 

"  Toois,  fouk,  yir  makin'  ower  muckle  o'  it.  It 
wes  licht  grund,  no  worth  puttin'  in  a  ploo." 

Mr.  Hopps  explained  to  me,  before  leaving,  that 
he  had  been  much  pleased  with  the  scenery  of  our 
Glen,  but  disappointed  in  the  people. 

"They  may  not  be  hignorant,"  said  the  little 
man  doubtfully,  "but  no  man  could  call  them 
haffablc." 

It  flashed  on  me  for  the  first  time  that  perhaps 
there  may  have  been  the  faintest  want  of  genial-ty 
in  the  Drumtochty  manner,  but  it  was  simply  the 
reticence  of  a  subtle  and  conscientious  people. 
Intellect  with  us  had  been  brought  to  so  fine  an 
edge  by  the  Shorter  Catechism  that  it  could  detect 
endless  distinctions,  and  was  ever  on  the  watch 


ii' 


m 


1 80  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 


u 


against  inaccuracy.  Farmers  who  could  state  the 
esoteric  doctrine  of  "  spiritual  independence " 
between  the  stilts  of  the  plough,  and  talked 
familiarly  of  "co-ordinate  jurisdiction  with  mutual 
subordination,"  were  not  likely  to  fall  into  the 
vice  of  generalisation.  When  James  Soutar  was 
in  good  fettle,  he  could  trace  the  whole  history  of 
Scottish  secession  from  the  beginning,  winding 
his  way  through  the  maze  of  Original  Seceders 
and  Cameronians,  Burghers  and  Anti-Burghers — 
there  were  days  when  he  would  include  the 
Glassites, — with  unfaltering  step  ;  but  this  was 
considered  a  feat  even  in  Drumtochty,  and  it  was 
admitted  that  Jamie  had  "  a  gift  o'  discreemina- 
tion."  We  all  had  the  gift  in  measure,  and  dared 
not  therefore  allow  ourselves  the  expansive  lan- 
guage of  the  South.  What  right  had  any  human 
being  to  fling  about  superlative  adjectives,  seeing 
what  a  bif^  place  the  world  is,  and  how  little  we 
know?  Purple  adjectives  would  have  been  as 
much  out  of  place  in  our  conversation  as  a  bird  of 
paradise  among  our  rnuirfowl. 

Mr.   Hopps   was  so    inspired  by   one   of  our 


!  1 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  URUM'rOCHTY  i8i 

sunsets— to  his  credit  let  that  be  told— that  he 
tried  to  drive  Jamie  into  extravagance. 

"  No  bad!  I  call  it  glorious,  and  if  it  hisn't.then 
I'd  like  to  know  what  his." 

"  Man,"  replied  Soutar  austerely,  "ye  'ill  surely 
keep  ae  word  for  the  twenty-first  o'  Reevelation." 

Had  any  native  used  "  magnificent,"  there  would 
have  been  an  uneasy  feeling  in  the  Glen  ;  the  man 
must  be  suffering  from  wind   in   the  head,  and 
might   upset   the   rotation   of  crops,  sowing  his 
young  grass  after  potatoes,  or  replacing  turnip 
with  beetroot.     But  nothing  of  that  sort  happened 
in  my  time ;  we  kept  ourselves  well  in  hand.     It 
rained    in    torrents    elsewhere,    with   us   it   only 
"  threatened  tae  be  weet  "—some  provision  had  to 
be  made  for  the  deluge.     Strangers,  in  the  pride 
of  health,  described  themselves  as  "fit  for  anything," 
but  Hillocks,  who  died  at  ninety-two,  and  never  had 
an  hour's  illness,  did  not  venture,  in  his  prime, 
beyond    "Gaein'    aboot,    a'm    thankfu'    to    say, 
gaein'  aboot." 

When  one  was  seriously  ill,  he  was  said  to  be 
"  gey  an'  sober,"  and  no  one  died  in  Drumtochty— 
"  he  slippit  awa." 


iip 


182  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 


Hell  and  heaven  were  pulpit  words ;  in  private 
life  we  spoke  of  "the  ill  place"  and  "oor  lang 
hame." 

When  the  corn  sprouted  in  the  stooks  one  late 
wet  harvest,  and  Burnbrae  lost  half  his  capital, 
he  only  said,  "  It's  no  llchtsome,"  and  no  congratu- 
lations on  a  good  harvest  ever  extracted  more 
from  Drumshcugh  than  "  A'  daurna  complain." 

Drumsheugh  might  be  led  beyond  bounds  in 
reviewing  a  certain  potato  transaction,  but,  as  a 
rule,  he  was  a  master  of  measured  speech.  After 
the  privilege  of  much  intercourse  with  that  ex- 
cellent man,  I  was  able  to  draw  up  his  table  of 
equivalents  for  the  three  degrees  of  wickedness. 
When  there  was  just  a  suspicion  of  trickiness — 
neglecting  the  paling  betvveen  your  cattle  and 
your  neighbour's  clover  field — "  He's  no  juist  the 
man  for  an  elder."  If  it  deepened  into  deceit — 
running  a  "greasy"  horse  for  an  hour  before 
selling — "  He  wud  be  the  better  o'  anither  dip." 
And  in  the  case  of  downright  fraud — finding  out 
what  a  man  had  offered  for  his  farm  and  taking 
it  over  his  head — the  offender  was  "  an  ill  gettit 
wratch."     The  two  latter  phrases  were  dark  with 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY  183 

theology,  and  even  the  positive  degree  of  con- 
demnation had  an  ecclesiastical  flavour. 

When  Drumshcugh  api)rovcd  any  one,  he  was 
content  to  say,  "  He  micht  be  waur,"  a  position 
beyond    argument.       On    occasion    he   ventured 
upon  bolder  assertions  :  "  There's  nae  mischief  in 
Domsie  ; "  and  once  I  heard  him  in  a  white  heat 
of  enthusiasm  pronounce  Dr.  Davidson,  our  parish 
minister,  "A  graund  man  ony  \vy  ye  tak  him." 
But  he  seemed  ashamed  after  this  outburst,  and 
"shooed"  the  crovvsoff  the  corn  with  needless  vigour. 
No  Drumtochty  man  would  commit  himself  to 
a  positive  statement  on  any  subject  if  he  could 
find  a  way  of  escape,  not  because  his  mind  was 
confused,  but  because  he  was  usually  in  despair 
for  an  accurate  expression.     It  was  told  for  years 
in  the  Glen,  with  much  relish  and  almost  funereal 
solemnity,  how  a  Drumtochty  witness  had  held 
his  own  in  an  ecclesiastical  court. 

"  You  are  beadle  in  the  parish  of  Pitscourie," 
began  the  advocate  with  a  light  heart,  not  knowing 
the  witness's  birthplace. 

"It's  a  fac',"  after  a  long  pause  and  a  careful 
review  of  the  whole  situation. 


m 


ji-i 


.^1  f 

1 


184  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 

"  You  remember  that  Sabbath  when  the  minister 
of  Netheraird  preached." 

"  Weel,  a'll  admit  that,"  making  a  concession 
to  justice. 

"  Did  ye  see  him  in  the  vestry?  " 

"  A'  canna  deny  it." 

"  Was  he  intoxicated  ?  " 

The  crudeness  of  this  question  took  away 
Drumtochty's  breath,  and  suggested  that  some- 
thing must  have  been  left  out  in  the  creation 
of  that  advocate.  Our  men  were  not  bigoted 
abstainers,  but  I  never  heard  any  word  so  coarse 
and  elementary  as  intoxicated  used  in  Drumtochty. 
Conversation  touched  this  kind  of  circumstance 
with  delicacy  and  caution,  for  we  keenly  realised 
the  limitations  of  human  knowledge. 

"  He  hed  his  mornin',"  served  all  ordinary 
purposes,  and  in  cases  of  emergency,  such  as 
Muirtown  market : 

"  Ye  cud  see  he  hed  been  tastin'." 

When  an  advocate  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to 
say  intoxicated,  a  Drumtochty  man  might  be 
excused  for  being  upset. 

"  Losh,  man,"  when  he  had  recovered,  "  hoo  cud 


■;  Siji 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY  185 
ony  richt-thinkin'  man  svveer  tae  sic  an  awfu' 
word  ?  Na,  na,  a'  daurna  use  that  kin'  o'  langidge ; 
it's  no  cannie." 

The  advocate  tried  again,  a  humbler,  wiser  man. 
"  Was  there  a  smell  of  drink  on  him  ?  " 
"Noo,  since  ye  press  me,  a'll  juist  tell  ye  the 
hale  truth  ;  it  wes  doonricht  stupid  o'  me,  but,  as 
sure  as  a'm  livin',  a'  clean  forgot  tae  try  him."  ' 

Then    the  chastened  counsel  gathered  himself 
up  for  his  last  effort. 

"  Will  you  answer  one  question,  sir  ?  you  are  on 
your  oath.  Did  you  see  anything  unusual  in  Mr. 
MacOmish's  walk  ?     Did  he  stagger  ?  " 

"  Na,"  when  he  had  spent  two  minutes  in  recall- 
ing the  scene.  "  Na,  I  cudna  say  stagger,  but  he 
micht  gie  a  bit  trimmil." 

"We  are  coming  to  the  truth  now;  what  did 
you  consider  the  cause  of  the  trimmiling,  as  you 
call  it  ?  "  and  the  innocent  young  advocate  looked 
round  in  triumph. 

"  Weel,"  replied  Drumtochty,  making  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  "since  ye  maun  hae  it,  a'  heard  that 
he  wes  a  very  learned  man,  and  it  cam  intae  ma 
mind  that  the  Hebrew,  which,  a'm  telt,  is  a  very 


i86  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 


contrairy  langidge,  hed  gacn  doon  and  settled  in 
his  legs." 

The  parish  of  Ncthcraird  was  declared  vacant, 
but  it  was  understood  that  the  beadle  of  Pitscourie 
had  not  contributed  to  this  decision. 

His  own  parish  followed  the  trial  with  intense 
interest,  and  were  much  pleased  with  Andra's 
appearance. 

"  Sail,"  said  Hillocks,  "  Andra  has  mair  gump- 
tion than  ye  wud  think,  and  yon  advocat  didna 
mak  muckle  o'  him.  Na,  na,  Andra  wesna 
brocht  up  in  the  Glen  for  naethin'.  Maister 
MacOmish  may  hac  taen  his  gless  atween  the 
Hebrew  and  the  Greek,  and  its  no  verra  suitable 
for  a  minister,  but  that's  anither  thing  frac  bein' 
intoxicat." 

"  Keep's  a',  if  ye  were  tae  pit  me  in  the  box 
this  meenut,  a'  cudna  sweer  a'  hed  ever  seen  a 
man  intoxicat  in  ma  life,  except  a  puir  body  o'  an 
English  bag-man  at  Muirtown  Station.  A'  doot 
he  hed  bin  mcddlin'  wi'  speerits,  and  they  were 
wheelin'  him  tae  his  kcrridge  in  a  luggage  barrow. 
It  wes  a  fearsome  sicht,  and  eneugh  tae  keep  ony 
man  frae  speaking  aboot  intoxicat  in  yon  louse  wy." 


•t 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCIITY  187 

Archie  Moncur  fought  the  drinking  customs  of 
the  Glen  night  and  day  with  moderate  success, 
and  one  winter's  night  he  gave  me  a  study  in  his 
subject  which,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  I  still  think 
admirable  for  its  reserve  power  and  Dantesque 
conclusion. 

"They   a'   begin    in    a    sma'   wy,"    explained 
Archie,  almost  hidden  in  the  depths  of  my  reading 
chair,  and  emphasising  his  points  with  a  gentle 
motion  of  his  right  hand  ;  "  nacthin'  tae  mention 
at  first,  juist  a  gless  at  an  orra  time— a  beerial 
or  a  merridge— and   maybe  New  Year.      That's 
the  first  stage  ;  they  ca'  that  moderation.     Aifter 
a  whilie  they  tak  a  mornin'  wi'  a  freend,  and  sync 
a  gless  at  the  public-hoose  in  the  evcnir/,  and  they 
treat   ane  anither  on  market  days.      That's  the 
second  stage  ;  that's  '  tastin'.'     Then  they  need  it 
reg'lar  every  day,  nicht  an'  mornin',  and  they'll  sit 
on  at  nicht  till  they're  turned  oot.     They  'ill  fecht 
ower    the    Confession    noo,   and    laist    Sabbath's 
sermon,  in  the   Kildrummie   train,  till    its   clean 
reediklus.      That's  drammin',  and    when    they've 
hed  a  year  or  twa  at  that  they  hae  their  first 
spatie  (spate  is  a  river  flood),  and  that  gies  them 


fM\ 


I  1 


188  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUM  rOCIITY 


a  bit  fricht.  But  aff  they  set  again,  and  then 
comes  anithcr  spatie,  and  the  doctor  hcs  tac  bring 
them  roond.  Tlicy  ca*  (drive)  cannie  for  a  year 
or  sae,  but  the  fccin'  market  puts  the  feenishin' 
titch.  They  slip  aff  sudden  in  the  end,  and  then 
they  juist  gang  plunk — ay,"  said  Archie  in  a  tone 
of  gentle  meditation,  looking,  as  it  were,  over  the 
edge,  "  juist  plunk." 

Nothing  ever  affected  my  imagination  more 
powerfully  than  the  swift  surprise  and  gruesome 
suggestion  of  that  "  plunk." 

But  the  literary  credit  of  Drumlochty  rested  on 
a  b.oad  basis,  and  no  one  could  live  with  us  with- 
out having  his  speech  braced  for  life.  You  felt  equal 
to  any  emergency,  and  were  always  able  to  express 
your  mind  with  some  degree  of  accuracy,  which  is 
one  of  the  luxuries  of  life.  There  is,  for  instance, 
a  type  of  idler  who  exasperates  o.ie  to  the  point 
of  assault,  and  whom  one  hungers  to  describe 
after  a  becomin^j  manner.  He  was  rare  in  the 
cold  air  of  the  North,  but  we  had  produced  one 
specimen,  and  it  was  my  luck  to  be  present  when 
he  came  back  from  a  distant  colony,  and  Jamie 
Soutar  welcomed  him  in  the  kirkyard. 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OW  DRUMTOCllTY  i89 
"Wccl,  Ch.'iirlic,"  and  Jamie  examined  the 
well-dressed  prodi^r.il  from  top  to  toe,  "  this  is  a 
prood  moment  for  Drumtochty,  and  an  awfu' 
relief  tae  ken  yir  safe.  Man,  ye  hevna  wr.nted 
meat  nor  claithes ;  a'  tak  it  racl  nccburly  o'  ye 
tae  speak  ava  wi'  us  auld-fashioned  fouk. 

"  Ye  needna  look  soor  nor  cock  yir  nose  in  the 
air,  for  you  an'  me  are  auld  frccnds,  and  yir  puir 
granny  wes  na  mair  anxious  aboot  ye  than  a' 
wes. 

"'A'm  feared  that  laddie  o'  Bell's  'ill  kill 
himsel'  oot  in  Ameriky,'  wnrc  ma  verra  words  tae 
Hillocks  here;  'he  'ill  be  slavin'  his  flesh  afif  his 
banes  tae  mak  a  fortune  and  keep  her  comfortable.' 

"It  was  a  rael  satisfaction  tae  read  yir  letter 
frae  the  backwoods— or  was't  a  public-hoose  in 
New  York  ?  ma  memory's  no  what  it  used  to  be— 
telling  hoo  ye  were  aye  thinking  o'  your  auld 
granny,and  wantin'  taecome  hame  and  be  a  comfort 
tae  her  if  she  wud  send  ye  out  twenty  pund. 

"  The  bit  that  afifeckit  me  maist  wes  the  text 
frae  the  Prodigal  Son-it  cam  in  sae  natural. 
Mony  a  broken  hert  hes  that  story  bund  up,  as 
we  ken  weel  in  this  Glen  ;  but  it's  dune  a  feck  o' 


II 


I'f  ■ 


3^ 


hi!' 


I90  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 

mischief  tae — that  gude  word  o'  the  Maisier. 
Half  *^he  wastrels  in  the  warld  pay  their  passage 
hame  wi'  that  Parable,  and  get  a  bran  new  outfit 
for  anithcr  start  in  the  far  country. 

"  Noo  dinna  turn  red,  Chairlie,  fcr  the  neeburs 
ken  ye  were  tae  work  yii  wy  hame  had  it  no 
been  for  yir  health.  But  there's  a  pack  of 
rascals  'ill  sorn  on  their  father  as  lang  as  he's 
livin',  and  they  'ill  stairve  a  weedovved  mither, 
and  they  'ill  tak  a  sister's  wages,  and  if  they 
canna  get  ony  better  a  dune  body  o'  eighty  'ill 
serve  them. 

"  Man,  Chairlie,  if  a'  hed  ma  wul!  wi'  thie 
wawfies,  I  wud  ship  them  aft  tae  a  desert  island, 
wi'  ae  sack  o'  seed  potatoes  and  anither  o*  seed 
corn,  and  let  them  work  or  dee.  A'  ken  yir  wi' 
me  there,  for  ye  aye  hed  an  independent  spirit, 
and  wesna  feared  tae  bend  yir  back. 

"  Noo,  if  a'  cam  across  ane  o'  thae  meeserable 
objects  in  Drumtochty,  div  ye  ken  the  advice 
I  wud  gie  him  ? 

"A'  wud  tell  the  daidlin',  thowless,  feckless, 
fushionbss  wratch  o'  a  cratur  tae  watch  for  the 
first  spate  and  droon  himsel'  in  the  Tochty." 


1 


11 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY  191 

"  What's  he  aff  through  the  graves  for  in  sic  a 
hurry?"  and  Jamie  followed  Charlie's  retreating 
figure  witn  a  glance  of  admirable  amazement ; 
"thae's  no  very  gude  mainners  he's  learned  in 
Americky." 

"  Thank  ye,  Jeemes,  thank  ye  ;  we're  a'  obleeged 
tae  ye,"  said  Drumsheugh.  "  A'  wes  ettlin'  tae 
lay  ma  hands  on  the  whup-ma-denty  (fop)  masel, 
but  ma  certes,  he's  hed  his  kail  het  tlr's  mornin'. 
Div  ye  think  he  'ill  tak  yir  advice  ?  " 

"  Nae  fe  o'  him  ;  thae  neer-dae-weels  haena 
the  spunk ;  but  a'm  expeckin'  he  'ill  flee  the 
pairish." 

Which  he  did.  Had  you  called  him  indolent 
or  useless  he  had  smiled,  but  "  daidlin',  thowless, 
feckless,  fushionless  wratch,"  drew  blood  at  every 
stroke,  like  a  Russian  knout. 

We  had  tendc-  words  also,  that  still  bring  the 
tears  to  my  eyes,  and  chief  among  them  was 
"  couthy."  What  did  it  mean  ?  It  meant  a 
letter  to  some  tired  townsman,  written  in  homely 
Scotch,  and  bidding  him  come  to  get  new  life 
from  the  Drumtochty  air ;  and  the  grip  of  an 
honest  hand  on  the  Kildrummie  platform  whose 


ft 
II', 

, ,« It 


t   V. 


j  if 

;,l 

If; 


sill 


n 


192  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 


wannth  lasted  till  you  reached  the  Glen  ;  and 
another  welcome  at  the  garden-gate  that  mingled 
with  the  scent  of  honeysuckle,  and  moss-roses, 
and  thyme,  and  carnations ;  and  the  best  of 
everything  that  coul J  be  given  you  ;  and  motherly 
nursing  in  illness,  with  skilly  remedies  of  the 
older.'  time  ;  and  wise,  cheery  talk  that  spake  no 
ill  of  man  or  God  ;  and  loud  reproaches  if  you 
proposed  to  leave  under  a  month  or  two  ;  and 
absolute  conditions  that  you  must  return  ;  and  a 
load  of  country  dainties  for  a  bachelor's  bare 
commons  ;  and  far  more,  that  cannot  be  put  into 
words,  of  hospitality,  and  kindness,  and  quietness, 
and  restfulness,  and  loyal  friendship  of  hearts 
now  turned  to  dust  in  the  old  kirkyard. 

But  the  best  of  all  our  words  were  kept  for 
spiritual  things,  and  the  description  of  a  godly 
man.  We  did  not  speak  of  the  "  higher  life,"  nor 
of  a  "  beautiful  Christian,"  for  this  way  of  putting 
it  would  not  have  been  in  keeping  with  the  genius 
of  Drumtochty.  Religion  there  was  very  lowly 
and  modest — an  inward  walk  with  God.  No 
man  boaste^  of  himself,  none  told  the  secrets  of 
the  soul.       ut  the  Glen  took  notice  of  its  saints, 


CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY  193 

and  did  them  silent  reverence,  which  they  them- 
selves never  knew.  Jamie  Soutar  had  a  wicked 
tongue,  and,  at  a  time,  it  played  round  Archie's 
temperance  schemes,  but  when  that  good  man's 
back  was  turned  Jamie  was  the  first  to  do  him 
justice. 

"  It  wud  set  us  better  if  we  did  as  muckle  gude 
as  Airchie ;  he's  a  richt  livin'  man  and  weel 
prepared." 

Our  choicest  tribute  was  paid  by  general 
consent  to  Burnbrae,  and  it  may  be  partfality, 
but  it  sounds  to  me  the  deepest  in  religious 
speech.  Every  cottage,  strangers  must  understand, 
had  at  least  two  rooms — the  kitchen  where  the 
work  was  done,  that  we  called  the  "  But,"  and 
there  all  kinds  of  people  came  ;  and  the  inner 
chamber  which  held  the  household  treasures, 
that  we  called  the  "  Ben,"  and  there  none  but  a 
few  honoured  visitors  had  entrance.  So  we 
imagined  an  outer  court  of  the  religious  life  where 
most  of  us  made  our  home,  and  a  secret  place 
where  only  God's  nearest  friends  could  enter,  and 
it  was  said  of  Burnbrae,  "  He's  far  ben."  His 
neighbours  had  watched  him,  for  a  generation  and 

N 


:ii: 


n 


ii.' 


1 : 


tl\ 


1 


I 


"/«^^- 


I'  1 

1 

it 


t  I  ■ 


'4 


Ihi      ' 


'94  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY 

more,  buying  and  selling,  ploughing  and  reaping, 
going  out  and  in  the  common  ways  of  a  farmer's 
life,  and  had  not  missed  the  glory  of  the  soul. 
The  cynic  of  Drumtochty  summed  up  his  character; 
"  There's  a  puckle  gude  fouk  in  the  pairish,  and 
ane  or  twa  o'  the  ither  kind,  and  the  maist  o'  us 
are  half  and  between,"  said  Jamie  Soutar,  "  but 
there's  ae  thing  ye  may  be  sure  o',  Burnbrae  is 
•farbea.'" 


■i 


A    WISE    WOMAN 


i  I 


i  II 


I 


m'^' 


'il 


Mi: 


n 


I 


OUR  SERMON  TASTER 

A  Drumtochty  man,  standing  six  feet  three  in 
his  boots,  sat  himself  down  one  day  in  the  study 
of  a  West-end  minister,  and  gazed  before  him  with 
the  countenance  of  a  sphinx. 

The  sight  struck  awe  into  the  townsman's  heart 
and  the  power  of  speech  was  paralysed  within 
nim. 

"  A'm  frae  Drumtochty."  began  a  deep  solemn 
vo.ce.      "Ye  'ill   hae  heard   of  Drumtochty    of 
coorse.     AVe  jined  the  poHs  ;  the  pay  is  no  ihat 
bad,  and  the  work  is  naethin'  tae  an  able-bodied 
man." 

When  these  particulars  had  been  digested  by 
the  audience — 

« It's  a  crooded  place  London,  and  the  fouk's 
aye  .n   a  tiravie  (commotion),   rinnin'  here  an' 


fill 


•11 


i 


198 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


II 


rinnin'  there,  and  the  maist  feck  o'  them  dinna 
ken  whar  they're  gaein. 

"  It's  officer  this  and  officer  that  frae  mornin*  till 
nicht.  It's  pectifu'  tae  sec  the  helplessness  o'  the 
bodies  in  their  ain  toon.  And  they're  freevolous," 
continued  the  figure,  refreshing  itself  with  a 
reminiscence. 

"  It  wes  this  verra  mornin'  that  a  man  askit  me 
hoo  tae  get  tae  the  Strand. 

"  *  Haud  on,'  I  says,  *  till  ye  come  tae  a  cross 
street,  and  dinna  gang  doon  it,  and  when  ye  see 
anither  pass  it,  but  whup  roond  the  third,  and  yir 
nose  'ill  bring  ye  tae  the  Strand.' 

"  He  was  a  shachlin  bit  cratur,  and  he  look  it  up 
at  me. 

"  '  Where  were  you  born,  officer  ? '  in  his  clippit 
English  tongue. 

"  '  Drumtochty,'  a'  said, '  an'  we  hev  juist  ae  man 
as  sma'  as  you  in  the  hale  Glen.' 

"  He  gied  awa'  lauchin'  like  tae  split  his  sides, 
an'  the  fac'  is  there's  no  ane  o'  them  asks  me  a 
question  but  he  lauchs.  They're  a  licht-headed 
fouk,  and  no  sair  educat.  But  we  maunna  boast ; 
they  hevna  hed  cor  advantages," 


OUR  SERMON  TASTER  ,99 

The  minister  made  a  brave  effort  to  assert  him- 
self. 

^  "  Is  there  anything  I  ran  do  ?  "  but  the  figure 
simply  waved  its  hand  and  resumed : 

"  A'm  comin'  tae  that,  but  a'  thocht  ye  wud  be 
wantin'  ma  opeenion  o'  London. 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  the  first  thing  a'  did,  of  coorse. 
after  settlin'  doon,  was  tae  gae  roond  the  kirks 
and  hear  what  kin'  o'  ministers  they  hae  up  here. 
AVe  been  in  saxteen  kirks  the  last  three  months,  an 
a'  wud  hae  been  in  mair  had  it  no  bin  for  ma  o'ors. 
"  Ay,  ay,  a'  ken  ye  'ill   be  wantin'  ma  judg- 
ment," interpreting  a  movement  in  the  chair,  "  an' 
ye  'ill  hae   it.     Some   wes   puir  stuff-plenty  o' 
water  and  little  meal-and  some  wesna  sae  bad 
for  England.     But  ye  'ill   be  pleased  to  know," 
here  the  figure  relaxed  and  beamed  on  the  anxious 
mmister,  "  that  a'm  rael  weel  satisfied  wi'  yersel', 
and  a'm  thinkin'  o'  sittin'  under  ye. 

"  Man,"  were  Drumtochty's  last  words,  "  a'  wish 
Elspeth   Macfadyen   cud   hear  ye,  her  'at  prces ' 
(tastes)  the  sermons  in  oor  Glen  ;  a'  believe  she 
wud   pass  ye,   an'   if  ye   got   a   certeeficat    frae 
Elspeth,  ye  wud  be  a  prood  man." 


I   ,, 


I  r  M 


200 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


■'  ,  i 


■V 


'I:  1: 


h     S 


I 


Drumtochty  read  widely — Soutar  was  soaked 
in  Carlyle,  and  Marget  Howe  knew  her  "  In 
Memoriam "  by  heart — but  our  intellectual  life 
centred  on  the  weekly  sermon.  Men  thought  about 
Sabbath  as  they  followed  the  plough  in  our  caller 
air,  and  braced  themselves  for  an  effort  at  the  giving 
out  of  the  text.  The  hearer  had  his  snuff  and 
selected  his  attitude,  and  from  that  moment  to  the 
close  he  never  moved  nor  took  his  eyes  ofT  the 
preacher.  There  was  a  tradition  that  one  of  the  Dis- 
ruption fathers  had  preached  in  the  Free  Kirk  for 
one  hour  and  fifty  minutes  on  the  bulwarks  of 
Zion,  and  had  left  the  impression  that  he  was  only 
playing  round  the  outskirts  of  his  subject.  No 
preacher  with  anything  to  say  could  complain  of 
Drumtochty,  for  he  got  a  patient,  honest,  critical 
hearing  from  beginning  to  end.  If  a  preacher 
were  slightly  equipped,  the  audience  may  have 
been  trying.  Well-meaning  evangelists  who  came 
with  what  they  called  "  a  simple  Gospel  address," 
and  were  accustomed  to  have  their  warmer 
passages  punctuated  with  rounds  of  spiritual 
applause  in  the  shape  of  smiles  and  nods,  lost 
heart  in  face  of  that  judicial  front,  and  afterwards 


301 


OUR  SERMON  TAS'IER 

clcscribed  Drumtochty  in  the  religious  papers  as 
"dead."  It  was  as  well  that  these  good  men 
walked  in  a  vain  show,  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
their  hearers  were  painfully  alive. 

"  Whar  did  yon  wakely  body  come  frae.  Burn- 
brae?  it  wes  licht  wark  the  day.  There  wes  nae 
thocht  worth  mentionin',  and  onything  he  hed  wes 
eked  oot  by  repeetition.  Tae  sae  nacthin'  o' 
bairnly  stories." 

"  He  lives  aboot  England,  a'm  telt,  an'  dis  a 
feck  o'  gudc  in  his  ain  place.  He  hesna  muckle 
in  his  head,  a'll  alloc  that,  Netherton,  but  he's  an 
earnest  bit  cratur." 

"  Ou  ay,  and  fu'  o'  self-conceit.  Did  ye  hear 
hoo  often  he  said  '  I '  ?  a'  got  as  far  as  saxty-three, 
and  then  a'  lost  coont.  But  a'  keepit '  dear.'  it 
cam  tae  the  hundred  neat. 

"'  Weel  ? '  a'  says  tae  Elspeth  Macfadyen.     A' 
kent  she  wud  hae  his  measure. 

"' Gruel,  Netherton,  juist  gruel,  and  eneuch  tae 
scunner  (disgust)  ye  wi'  sugar.' " 

It  was  the  birthright  of  every  native  of  the 

parish  to  be  a  critic,  and  certain  were  allowed  to 

be    experts    in    special    departments  -  Lachlan 


j 

i 
1 

i 

In 


ao3 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


Campbell  in  doctrine  and  Jamie  Soiitar  in  lofric— 
but  as  an  auld  round  practitioner  Mrs  Macfadycn 
had  a  solitary  reputation.  It  rested  on  a  long 
scries  of  unreversed  judgments,  with  felicitous 
strokes  of  description  that  passed  into  the  literary 
capital  of  the  Glen.  One  felt  it  was  genius,  ci-nd 
could  only  note  contributing  circumstances — an 
eye  that  took  in  the  preacher  from  the  crown  of 
his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot ;  an  almost  un- 
cannie  insight  into  character ;  the  instinct  to 
seize  on  every  scrap  of  evidence  ;  a  memory  that 
was  simply  an  automatic  register;  an  unfailing 
sense  of  fitness ;  and  an  absolute  impartiality 
regarding  subject. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  Mrs  Macfadyen 
did  not  take  nervous  little  notes  during  the 
sermon — all  writing  on  Sabbath,  in  kirk  or  out- 
side, was  strictly  forbidden  in  Drumtochty — or 
mark  her  Bible,  or  practise  any  other  profane 
device  of  feeble-minded  hearers.  It  did  not 
matter  how  elaborate  or  how  incoherent  a  sermon 
might  be,  it  could  not  confuse  our  critic. 

When  John  Peddie  of  Muirtown,  who  always 
approached  two  hours,  and  usually  had  to  leave 


OUR  SERMON  TASTER 


203 


out  the  last  head,  took  time  at  the  Drumtochty 
Fast,  and  gave,  at  full  length,  his  famous  discourse 
on  the  total  depravity  of  the  human  race,  fro'-i  the 
text,  "  Arise,  shine,  for  thy  light  is  come,"  it  may 
be  admitted  that  the  Glen  wavered  in  its  con- 
fidence. Human  nature  has  limitations,  and 
failure  would  have  been  no  discredit  to  Elspeth. 

"  They  were  sayin'  at  the  Presbytery,"  Burn- 
brae  reported,  "that  it  hes  mair  than  seeventy 
heads,  coontin'  pints,  of  coorse,  and  a'  can  wecl 
believe  it.  Na,  na,  it's  no  tae  be  expeckit  that 
Elspeth  cud  gie  them  a'  aifter  ae  hearin'." 

Jamie  Soutar  looked  in  to  set  his  mind  at  rest, 
and  Elspeth  went  at  once  to  work. 

"Sit  doon,  Jamie,  for  it  canna  be  dune  in  a 
meenut." 

It  took  twenty-three  minutes  exactly,  for  Jamie 
watched  the  clock. 

"  That's  the  laist,  makin'  seeventy-four,  and  ye 
may  depend  on  every  ane  but  that  fourth  pint 
under  the  sixth  head.  Whether  it  wes  the  '  begin- 
nin'  o'  faith '  or  '  the  origin,'  a'  canna  be  sure,  for 
he  cleared  his  throat  at  the  time." 

Peter  Bruce  stood  helpless  at  the  Junction  next 


■  ^ 

I 


i          i  ■  ■: 

^1 

ii 

*■• 


i  IF 

♦  if 


|!;! 


204 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


V. 


Friday — Drumtochty  was  celebrating  Elspeth — 
and  the  achievement  established  her  for  life. 

Probationers  who  preached  in  the  vacancy  had 
heard  rumours,  and  tried  to  identify  their  judge, 
with  the  disconcerting  result  that  they  addressed 
their  flovvericst  passages  to  Mistress  Stirton,  who 
was  the  stupidest  woman  in  the  Free  Kirk,  and 
had  once  stuck  in  the  "  chief  end  of  man."  They 
never  suspected  the  sonsy  motherly  woman,  two 
pews  behind  Donald  Menzies,  with  hci  face  of 
demure  interest  and  general  air  of  country 
simplicity.  It  was  as  well  for  the  probationers 
that  they  had  not  caught  the  glint  of  those  black 
beady  eyes. 

"  It's  curious,"  Mrs  Macfadyen  remarked  to  me 
one  day,  "  hoo  the  pulpit  fashions  change,  juist 
like  weemen's  bonnets. 

"  Noo  a'  mind  when  auld  Doctor  Ferintosh, 
him  'at  wrote  '  Judas  Iscariot  the  firs*:  Residuary,' 
would  stand  twa  meenutes  facing  the  fouk,  and 
no  sit  docn  till  he  hed  his  snuff. 

"  But  thae  young  birkles  gie  oot  'at  they  see 
naebody  comin'  in,  an'  cover  their  face  wi'  ae 
hand  sae  solemn,  that  if  ye  didna  catch   them 


OUR  SERMON  TASTER  205 

keekin'  thiough  their  fingers  tae  see  what  like 
the  i<irk  is,  ye  wud  think  they  were  prayin'." 

"There's  not  much  escapes  you,"  I  dared  to 
say.  and  ahhough  the  excellent  woman  was  not 
accessible  to  gross  flattery,  she  seemed  pleased. 

"  A'm  thankfu'  that  a'  can  see  withoot  lookin' ; 
an*  a'll  wager  nae  man  ever  read  his  sermon  in 
Drumtochty  Kirk,  an'  a'  didna  find  him  oot.    Noo, 
there's  the  new  minister  o'  Nethcraird,  he  writes  his' 
sermon  on  ae  side  o'  ten  sheets  o'  paper,  an'  he's 
that  carried  awa'  at  the  end  o'  ilka  page  that  he 
disna  ken  what  he's  dacin',  an'  the  sleeve  o'  his  goon 
slips  the  sheet  across  tae  the  ither  side  o'  the  Bible. 
"But   Doctor   Ferintosh   wes   cleverer,   sail   it 
near  beat  me  tae  detect  him."  and  Elspeth  paused 
to  enjoy  the  pulpit  ruse.     "  It  cam  tae  me  sudden 
ae  Sacrament  Monday,  hoo  dis  he  aye  turn  up 
twal  texts,  naither  mair  nor  les3.  and  that  set  me 
thinkin'.     Then  a'  noticed  that  he  left  the  Bible 
open  at  the  place  till  anither  text  was  due.  an'  I 
wunnercd  a'd  been  sae  slow.     It  wes  this  wy  :  he 
askit  the  beadle  for  a  gless  o'  water  in  the  vestry, 
and  slippit  his  sermon  in  atween  the  leaves  in  sae 
mony  bits.     A've  wished  for  a  gallery  at  a  time, 


it 


ii 


i 


r  :•=  ' ! 


206 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


!    I     ■ 


:  1 1    I    , 


_ 

;;  i 
4!! 

^J^B 

,   I 

i 

»  ■ 

*  1 
.* 

but  there's  mair  credit  in  findin'  it  oot  below — 
ay,  an'  plcesure  tae ;  a'  never  wearied  in  kirk  in 
ma  life." 

Mrs.  Macfadyen  did  not  appreciate  prodigal 
quotations  of  Scriptures,  and  had  her  suspicions 
of  this  practice. 

"  Tak  the  minister  o'  Pitscourie  noo ;  he's 
fair  fozzy  wi'  trokin'  in  his  gairden  an'  feeding 
pigs,  and  hesna  studied  a  .sermon  for  thirty 
year. 

"  Sae  what  dis he  dae,  think  ye?  He  havers  for 
a  whilie  on  the  errors  o'  the  day,  and  syne  he  says, 
'That's  what  man  says,  but  what  says  the 
Apostle  Paul?  We  shall  see  what  the  Apostle 
Paul  says.*  He  puts  on  his  glasses,  and  turns  up 
the  passage,  and  reads  maybe  ten  verses,  and 
then  he's  aff  on  the  jundy  (trot)  again.  When  a 
man  hes  naethin'  tae  say  he's  aye  lang,  and  a've 
seen  him  gie  half  an  oor  o'  passages,  and  anither 
half  oor  o'  havers. 

" '  He's  a  Bible  preache-,  at  any  rate,'  says 
Burnbrae  tae  me  'aist  Fast,  for,  honest  man,  he 
hes  aye  some  gude  word  lor  a  body. 

"  •  It's  ae  thing,'  I  said  to  him,  '  tae  feed  a  calf 


t    ii 


f/ ,"'  i« 


&^h^^^^^^b^ih 


OUR  SERMON  TASTER 


207 


wi'  milk,  and  anither  tae  gie  it  the  empty  cogie 
tae  lick.' 

"It's  curious,  but  aVe  noticed  that  when  a 
Moderate  gets  lazy  he  preaches  auld  sermons, 
but  a  Free  Kirk  minister  taks  tae  abusing  b's 
neeburs  and  reaoin'  screeds  o'  the  Bible. 

"  But  Maister  Pittendrcigh  hes  tvva  sermons,  at 
ony  rate,"  and  Elspeth  tasted  the  sweets  cT  memory 
with  such  keen  relish  that  I  begged  for  a  share. 

"  Well,  ye  see  he's  terrible  prood  o'  his  fcenishes, 
and  this  is  ane  o'  them  : 

'"Heaven,  ma  brethren,  will  be  far  grander 
than  the  hoose  o'  ony  earthly  potentate,  for  there 
ye  will  no  longer  eat  the  flesh  of  bulls  nor  drink 
the  blood  o'  goats,  but  we  shall  sook  the  juicy 
pear  and  scoop  the  loocious  meelon.     Amen.' 

"  He  hes  nae  mair  sense  o'  humour  than  an 
owl,  and  a'  a-'e  haud  that  a  man  withoot  humour 
sudna  be  allowed  intae  a  poopit. 

'*  A'  hear  that  they  have  nae  examination  in 
humour  at  the  college ;  it's  an  awfu'  want,  for  it 
wud  keep  oot  mony  a  dreich  body. 

"  But  the  meclcn's  naethin'  tae  the  goat,  that 
cowed  a'thing,  at  the  Fast  tae. 


i  (i 


It 


I 


m 


w 


I 


208 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


"  If  Jeems  wes  aboot  a'  daurna  mention  't :  he 
canna  behave  himsel*  tae  this  day  gin  he  hf^ars  't, 
though  ye  ken  he's  a  douce  man  as  ever  lived. 

"  It  wes  anither  feenish,  and  it  ran  this  wy : 

" '  Noo,  ma  freends,  a'  wull  no  be  keepin'  ye 
ony  longer,  and  ye  'ill  a'  gae  hame  tae  yir  ain 
hooses  and  mind  yir  ain  business.  And  as  sune 
as  ye  get  hame  ilka  man  'ill  gae  tae  his  closet 
and  shut  the  door,  and  stand  for  five  meenutes, 
and  ask  himsel'  this  solemn  question,  **  Am  I  a 
goat  ?  "     Amen.' 

"  The  amen  near  upset  me  masel',  and  a'  hed 
tae  dunge  Jeems  wi'  ma  elbow. 

"  He  said  no  a  word  on  the  wy  back,  but  a'  saw 
it  wes  barmin*  in  him,  and  he  gied  oot  sudden 
aifter  his  dinner  as  if  he  hed  been  ta'en  unweel. 

"  A'  cam'  on  him  in  the  byre,  rowing  in  the 
strae  like  a  bairn,  and  every  ither  row  he  took  he 
wud  say, '  Am  I  a  goat?' 

"  It  wes  na  cannie  for  a  man  o'  his  wecht, 
besides  bein'  a  married  man  and  a  kirk  member, 
and  a'  gied  him  a  hearing. 

"  He  sobered  doon,  and  a'  never  saw  him  dae 
the  like  since.     But  he  hesna  forgot,  na,  na  ;  a've 


^  ii 


OUR  SERMON  TASTER 

seen  a  look  come  ower  Jeems'  face  in  kirk,  and 
a've  been  feared. 

When  the  Free  Kirk  quarrelled  in  their  vacancy 
over  t;vo  probationers,  Mrs.  Macfadyen  summed 
them  up  with  such  excellent  judgment  that  they 
were  thrown  over  and  peace  restored. 

"  There's  some  o'  thae  Muirtown  drapers  can 
b-usk  oot  their  windows  that  ye  canna  pass 
withoot  lookin- ;  there's  bits  o'  blue  and  bits  o'  red, 
and  a  ribbon  here  an'  a  lace  yonder. 

"  It's  a  bonnie  show  and  denty,  an'  no  wunner 
the  lassies  stan'  and  stare. 

"  But  gae  intae  the  shop,  and  peety  me,  there's 
next  tae  naethin' ;  it's  a'  in  the  window. 

"Noo,  that's  Maister  Popinjay,  as  neat  an' 
fikey  a  little  mannie  as  ever  a'  saw  in  a  black  goon. 
"  His  bit  sermon  wes  six  poems— five  a'  hed 
heard  afore-four  anecdotes-three  aboot  him- 
sel'  and  ain  aboot  a  lord-twa  burnies,  ae  floo'r 
gairden,  and  a  snowstorm,  wi'  the  text  thirteen 
times  and  '  beloved '  twal ;  that  was  a' ;  a  takin' 
window,  and  Netherton's  lassies  cudna  sleep 
thinkin'  o'  him. 

"There's  ither  shopmen  in  Muiicown  that  fair 

o 


!•! 


■;, 


W] 


210 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


t 


scunner  ye  wi'  their  windows — they're  that  ill  set 
out — and  inside  there's  sic  a  wale  o'  stuff  that  the 
man  canna  get  what  ye  want ;  he's  clean  smoored 
wi'  his  ain  goods. 

"  It's  a  graund  shop  for  the  auld  fouk  that  hae 
plenty  o'  time  and  can  turn  ower  the  things  by 
the  'oor.  Ye  'ill  no  get  a  young  body  inside  the 
door. 

*'  That's  Maister  Auchtermuchty  ;  he  hes  mair 
material  than  he  kens  hoo  tae  handle,  and 
naebody,  hearin'  him,  can  mak  head  or  tail  o'  his 
sermon. 

"  Ye  get  a  rive  at  the  Covenants  ae  mecnute, 
and  a  mouthfu'  o'  justification  the  next.  Yir  nae 
suner  wi'  the  Patriarchs  than  yir  whuppit  aff  tae 
the  Apostles. 

"  It's  rich  feedin',  nae  doot,  but  sair  mixed,  an* 
no  verra  tasty." 

So  the  old  and  young  compromised,  and  chose 
Carmichael. 

Elspeth  was  candid  enough  on  occasion,  but 
she  was  not  indiscreet.  She  could  convey  her 
mind  delicately  if  need  be,  and  was  a  mistress  of 
subtle  suggestion. 


If 


OUR  SERMON  TASTER 


211 


When  Netherton's  nephew  preached  the  mis- 
sionary  sermon— he  was  a  stout  young  man  with 
a  volcanic  voice— Mrs.  Macfadyen  could  not  shirk 
her  duty,  but  she  gave  her  judgment  with  care. 

"  He's  a  fine  lad,  and  'ill  be  sure  to  get  a  kirk  ; 
he's  been  wee!  brocht  up,  and  comes  o'  decent 
fouk. 

"  His  doctrine  soonds  richt,  an'  he  'ill  no  gang 
aff  the  track.  Ye  canna  ca'  him  bashfu',  and  he's 
sure  to  be  heard." 

Her  audience  still  waited,  and  not  in  vain. 

"  But  the  Lord  hes  nae  pleesure  in  the  legs  o' 
a  man,"  and  every  one  felt  that  the  last  word  had 
been  said  on  Netherton's  nephew. 


*', 


1       ! 


1 
I 

i 

I 

?  i 


-ih'i 


II 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN 


.  1  ! 


!'  tP. 


nt 


^w 


Carmichael  used  to  lament  bitterly  that  he  had 
lost  his  Gaelic,  and  laboured  plans  of  compensation 
for  our  Celts,  who  were  understood  to  worship  in 
English  at  an  immense  reduction  of  profit.  One 
spring  he  intercepted  a  Highland  minister,  who 
was  returning  from  his  winter's  raid  on  Glasgov/ 
with  great  spoil,  and  arranged  an  evening  service, 
which  might  carry  Lachlan  Campbell  back  to  the 
golden  days  of  Auchindarroch.  Mr.  Dugald 
Mactavish  was  himself  much  impressed  with  the 
opportunity  of  refreshing  his  exiled  brethren, 
speaking  freely  on  the  Saturday  of  the  Lowlands 
as  Babylon,  and  the  duty  of  gathering  the  outcasts 
of  Israel  into  one.  He  was  weaned  with  difficulty 
from  Gaelic,  and  only  consented  to  preach  in  the 
"  other  language  "  on  condition  that  he  should  not 


!  ':\>. 


M 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN    213 
be  restricted  in  time.     His  soul  had  been  much 
hampered  in  West  End  churches,  where  he  had 
to  appeal  for  his  new  stove  under  the  first  head, 
lest  he  should  go  empty  away,  and  it  was  natu'-al 
for  one   escaping  from  such    bondage  to  put  a 
generous  interpretation  on   Carmichael's  conces- 
sion.      So  Malster   Dugald   continued   unto  the 
setting  of  the  sun.     His  discourse  was  so  rich  and 
varied  that  Peddie  of  Muirtown  on  original  sin 
was  not  to  be  compared  with  it  in  breadth  of 
treatment,  and  Mrs.  Macfadyen  confessed  frankly 
that  she  gave  up  in  despair  before  the  preacher 
had  fairly  entered  on  his  second  hour.     Besides 
the  encounter  of  the  preacher  with  Mr.   Urijah 
Hopps,  which   carried   the   Glen  by  storm,  and 
kept  the  name  of  Mactavish  green  with  us  for 
a  generation. 

Rumours  of  this  monumental  pulpit  effort,  with 
its  stirring  circumstances,  passed  from  end  to  end 
of  the  Glen  during  the  week,  and  Peter  himself 
recognised  that  it  was  an  occasion  at  the  Junction 
on  Friday. 

"  Ye  may  as  weel  shut  aff  the  steam,  Jeems," 
Peter  explained   to  our  engine-driver,  "an'  gie 


■I)  r 
11  li 


i 


If 


w 


214 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


them  ten  mcenuts.  It's  been  by  ordinar'  at 
Drumtochty  Free  Kirk  laist  Sabbath  nicht,  and 
Drumshcugh  'ill  no  move  till  he  hears  the  end  o't." 

And  as  soon  as  the  Muirtovvn  train  had  removed 
all  strangers,  that  worthy  man  opened  the 
campaign. 

"What  kin'  o'  collieshangie  (disturbance)  is 
this  ye've  been  carryin'  on,  Hillocks?  it's  doonricht 
aggravatin'  that  ye're  no  content  pcsterin'  oor  life 
cot  wi'  that  English  body  in  the  kirkyaird,  but 
ye  maist  needs  set  him  up  tae  arglebargle  wi'  a 
stranger  minister  at  the  Free  Kirk.  They  say 
that  the  puir  man  cud  hardly  get  a  word  in 
atween  you  and  yir  lodger.  Burnbrae  here  is 
threatenin'  ye  wi'  the  Sherra,  and  a'  dinna  wonder. 

"  It's  nae  lauchin'  maitter,  a'  can  tell  ye, 
Drumsheugh  ;  a've  never  been  sae  black  affrontit 
a*  ma  life.  Burnbrae  kens  as  weel  as  ye  dae  that 
a'  wasna  tae  blame. 

"  Ye  'ill  better  clear  yersel  at  ony  rate,  Hillocks, 
for  some  o'  the  neeburs  threep  (insist)  'at  it  wes 
you,  and  some  that  it  wes  yir  freend,  an'  there's 
ithers  declare  ye  ran  in  compt  (company)  like 
twa  dogs  worrying  sheep ;  it  wes  a  bonnie  like 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN  215 
pliskie  (escapade)  onywy,  and  hardly  fit  for  an 
Auld  Kirk  elder  "-a  .sally  much  enjoyed  by  the 
audience,  who  knew  that,  after  Whinnie.  Hillocks 
was  the  doucest  man  in  Drumtochty. 

;  Wecl.  ye  see  it  wes  this  wy,"  began  Hillocks, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  on  his  trial  for  fire  raiding. 
Hopps   fund   oot   that  a  Hielandman  wes  tae 
preach  in  the  Free  Kirk,ard  nacthin'  wud  sateesfy 
him  but  that  we  maun  gae.    A'  micht  hae  jalouscd 
(suspected)  it  wesna  the  sermon  the  wratch  wantit 
for  he  hed  the  impidence  tae  complain  that  the' 
Doctor  was  tedious  Sabbath  a  fortnicht  when  he 
gied  us  'Ruth.'  though   I   never  minded  'Ruth' 
gae  aff  sae  sweet  a'  the  times  a've  heard  it. 

"Gin  a'  hed  imagined  what  the  ettercap 
(captious  creature)  wes  aifter  a'  wud  hae  seen  ma 
feet  in  the  fire  afore  they  carried  me  tae  the  Free 
Kirk  that  nicht. 

"Says  he  tae  me  on  the  road,  'A'm  told  the 
minister  will  be  in  his  national  costume.' 

"  •  He  'ill  be  in  his  goon  and  bands,'  says  I  '  if 
that's  what  ye  mean,'  for  the  head  o'  him  is'  fu' 
o'  maggots,  and  nae  man  can  tell  what  he  wull 
be  at  next. 


r 


•16 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


4.' 


H .    ' ii 


"'Mister  Soutar  said  that  he  would  wear  his 
kilt,  and  that  it  would  be  an  interesting  spectacle.' 

"'Jamie's  been  drawing  yir  leg  (bofcxjling you),* 
says  I.  '  Man,  there's  naebody  wears  a  kilt 
forbye  gcmkcepers  and  tourist  bodies.  Ye  'ill 
better  come  awa  hame,'  and  sail,  if  a'  hed  kent 
what  wes  tae  happen,  a'  wud  hae  taken  him  aff 
below  ma  oxter. 

" Its  no  richt  tae  mak  me  responsible,  for  a* 
tried  tae  wile  him  awa  tae  the  back  o'  the  kirk 
whar  naebody  cud  see  him,  but  he's  that  thrawn 
and  upsettin',  if  he  didna  gae  tae  the  verra  front 
seat  afore  the  poopit. 

"'I  want  a  good  position,'  says  he;  'I'll  see 
everything  here ; '  sae  a'  left  him  an'  gied  tae 
Elspeth  Macfadyen's  seat. 

" '  He's  anxious  tae  hear,'  she  said,  *  an'  a'm 
thinkin'  he  'ill  gc;  mair  than  he  expecks.  A' 
wish  it  wes  weei  cvver  masel,  Hillocks;  it  'ill  be 
an  awfu'  nicht.' 

"  Thae  Hielandmen  dinna  pit  aff  time  wi'  the 
preleeminaries,  but  they  were  lang  eneuch  tae  let 
onybody  see  what  kin'  o'  man  Mactavish  wes. 

"  A  gruesome  carle,  neeburs,  wi'  his  hair  hangin' 


i 
1 


THK  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN    217 

rootul  his  face  like  a  warlock  and  his  ccn  bla/.in' 
oot  o'  his  head  like  fiic;  the  sicht  o'  him  is  sure 
tae  sober  llopps,  thinks  L 

"  But  no,  there's  some  foiik  'ill  tak  nac  warnin'  ; 
there  he  was,  sittin'  in  front  o'  ALictavish  with  his 
thumbs  in  his  airm  holes,  and  a  watch  gaird 
spread  richt  across  him,  and  ae  leg  cocked  over 
the  ither,  the  verra  ecmagc  of  a  bantam  cock 
flecin'  in  the  face  o'  judgment." 

Drumtochty  had  never  moved  during  this 
history,  and  now  they  drew  closer  round  Hillocks, 
on  whom  the  mantle  of  speech  had  for  once 
descended. 

"  Mactavish  lookit  at  the  body  aiiice,  and  he 
lookit  again  juist  tae  gie  him.  fair  notis,  and  then 
he  broke  oot  in  face  o'  the  hale  congregation : 

"  *  There's  nothing  in  all  the  world  so  deceptive 
as  sin,  for  outside  it's  like  a  bonnie  summer  day, 
and  inside  it's  as  black  as  hell. 

" '  Now  here  iss  this  fat  little  man  sittin'  before  me 
with  his  suit  o'  blue  clothes  so  bonnie  and  dainty, 
and  a  watch  guard  as  thick  as  my  finger  on  his 
wame,  smilin'  an'  smirkin',  and  real  well  contented 
with  himself,  but  if  he  wass  opened  up  what  a  sight 


B 


;l 


ti8 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


n 


I 


■'•' 


it  would  be  for  ncn  and  aiiL;cls.  Oh  yes,  yes,  it 
would  be  a  fearsome  sicht,  and  tio  man  here  would 
be  able  to  look." 

"  A'  tell  yc,  nccburs,  ye  mii  ht  hae  heard  a  pin 
fa'  tae  the  gri)und,  and  ma  heart  wes  thinniiing  in 
ma  bricst  ;  a'  wudna  come  thro'  the  like  o'  yon 
again  for  half  the  pleenishin'  o'  Hillocks," 

There  was  not  a  sound  at  the  junction  save  the 
steam  cscaoiiiir  from  the  enuine,  and  Hillocks 
resumed : 

•'  lUit  the  worst's  comin',  Hopps  jumps  up  and 
faces  Mactavish — a'll  no  deny  there  is  some  spunk 
in  the  body. 

•' '  What  right  have  you  to  speak  like  that  to 
me  ?  do  you  know  who  I  am  ? ' 

"  He  hod  better  been  quiet,  for  he  wes  nae 
match  for  ycMi  Hielandman. 

"  Mactavish  glowered  at  him  Cov  maj-be  a 
mecnut  till  the  puir  cratur  fell  back  intae  his  seat. 

"  *  Man,' sa)s  Mactavish,  M  do  not  know  who 
you  are,  and  I  do  not  know  what  you  are,  and  I 
shall  not  be  asking  who  you  are,  and  I  am  not 
cariuLT  tl:ouuh  vou  be  MacC'allumnune  himsel'. 
You  are  just  a  r.uable,  oh  )es,  just  a  Parable. 


THE  COI.LAPSK  OF  MRS.  M ACFADVEN    2,9 

"  *  Rut  if  yc  be  convicted  of  secret  sin  )c  may 
go  out,  and  if  thcio  be  an)-body  else  whose  sins 
have  been  laid  bare  he  may  go  out  too,  and  if 
nobody  wants  to  go  out,  then  I  will  be  going  on 
with  the  sermon,  oh  )'es.  for  it  tvill  not  do  to  be 
spending  all  our  time  on  Parables.' 

"  As  sure  as  a'm  stannin'  here  yc  cudna  see 
Hopps  inside  his  claithcs  when  Maclaxish  wcs 
dune  w'i'  him." 

When  the  train  started  Hillocks  received  the 
compliments  of  tiie  third  with  much  modesty,  and 
added  piquant  details  regarding  the  utter  confusion 
of  our  sermon  taster. 

"'Did  ye  follow?'   a'  speirit  o'  IClspeth  afore     ^ 
a' went  tae  pit  Hopps  thegilher. 

"'Cud  a'  follow  a  bumbce?'  wms  the  only 
^\  .n-d  a'  got  frae  her  ;  a'  saw  she  wis  beaten  for 
aince  .uul  wes  rael  mat!." 

"  Ts't  true  I'dspeth  sculTlcd  wi'  her  feet  at  the 
laist  head  and  gar'd  hini  close  ?  " 

"A'll  neither  deny  nor  anirm,  nrumsheugh  ; 
but  there's  nae  doot  when  the  nume  began  tae 
shine  aboot  nine,  and  Mactavish  started  afTon  the 
Devil,   sornebody   scrapit    a  .itle   me.      It    wesnn 


i 


' 


I;* 


w 


220 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


I  ^; 


w 

m 

Jeems  ;  he  daurna  for  his  h"fe  ;  and  it  vvesna  me. 
A'll  no  say  but  it  micht  be  Elspcth,  but  she  wes 
sair  provokit.  Aiftcr  haddin'  her  ain  twenty 
years  tae  be  maistered  by  a  Hielandman." 

It  was  simply  a  duty  of  friendship  to  look  in 
and  express  one's  sympathy  with  Mrs.  Macfadyen 
in  this  professional  disaster.  I  found  her  quite 
willing  to  go  over  the  circumstances,  which  were 
unexampled  in  her  experience,  and  may  indeed 
be  considered  a  contribution  to  history. 

"  A'  wudna  hae  minded,"  explained  Elspeth, 
settling  down  to  narrative,  "  hoo  mony  heads  he 
gied  oot,  no  tho'  he  hcd  titched  the  hundred. 
A've  cause  tae  be  gratefu'  for  a  guid  memory,  and 
aVe  kept  it  in  fine  fettle  wi'  sermons.  My  wy  is 
tae  place  ilka  head  at  the  end  o'  a  shelf  and  a'  the 
pints  aifter  it  in  order  like  the  plates  there,"  and 
Mrs.  Macfadyen  pointed  with  honest  pride  to  her 
wall  of  crockery,  "  and  when  the  minister  is  at  an 
illustration  or  makin'  an  appeal  a'  aye  rin  owcr 
the  rack  tae  see  that  a've  a'  the  pints  in  their 
places.  Maister  Mactavish  cud  ne'er  hae  got  the 
wheephand  o'  me  wi'  his  divecsions  ;  he's  no  fit 
tae  hand  the  can'lc  tae  John   Peddie.      Na,   na 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  ^LVCFADYEN    221 

a'  vvesna  feared  o'  that  when  a'  examined  yon 
man  gieing  oot  the  Psahn,  but  a'  didna  h'ke  his  een." 
He's  ravelled/  a'  said  tae  mascl,  '  without 
beginning  or  end  ;  we  'ill  hae  a  nicht  o't,'  and  sae 
we  hed." 

I    preserved    a    sympathetic    silence  till   Mrs. 
Macfadyen  felt  herself  able  to  proceed. 

"  It's  easy  eneuch,  ye  see,  for  an  auld  land  tae 
manage  ae  set  o'  heads  gin  they  come  tae  ten  or 
a  hundred,  but  it's  another  business  when  a  man 
hes  different  sets  in  ae  sermon.  Noo  hoo  mony 
sets  div  ye  think  that  man  hed  afore  he  vves  dune  ?" 
It  was  vain  for  a  mere  layman  to  cope  with 
the  possibilities  of  Mr.  Mactavish. 

"  Fower,  as  a'm  a  leevin'  woman,  and  that's  no 
a' ;  he  didna  feenish  wi'  ae  set  an'  begin  wi'  the 
next,  but  if  he  didna  mix  them  a'  thegither. 
Fower  set  o'  heads  a'  in  a  tangle ;  noo  ye  hae 
some  kin'  o'  idea  o'  what  a'  hed  tae  face."  And 
Mrs.  Macfadyen  paused  that  I  might  take  in  the 
situation. 

When  I  expressed  my  conviction  that  even  the 
most  experienced  hearer  was  helpless  in  buch 
circumstances,  Elspeth  rallied,  and  gave  me  to 


222 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


«t 


'i 


m 


understand  that  she  had  saved  some  fragments 
from  the  wreckage. 

"  A'll  juist  tell  yc  the  hale  hypothic,  for  sic  a 
discoorse  ye  may  never  hear  a'  the  days  o'  yir  life. 

"  Ye  ken  thae  Hielandmen  tak  their  texts  for 
the  maist  pairt  frae  the  Auld  Testament,  and  this 
was  it  mair  or  less,  *  The  trumpet  shall  be  blown, 
and  they  shall  come  from  Assyria  and  the  land  o' 
Egypt,'  and  he  began  by  explainin'  that  there 
were  twa  classes  in  Drumtochty,  those  who  were 
born  and  bred  in  Ine  parish,  which  were  oursels, 
and  them  'at  hed  tae  stay  here  owin'  tae  the 
mysterious  dispensatior.o  o'  Providence,  which  wes 
Lachlan  Campbell. 

"  Noo  this  roosed  ma  suspicions,  for  it's  against 
reason  for  a  man  tae  be  dividing  intae  classes  till 
the  end  o'  his  sermon.  Tak  my  word,  it's  no 
chancy  when  a  minister  begins  at  the  tail  o'  his 
subject :  he'll  wind  a  queer  pirn  afore  he's  dune. 

"  Weel,  he  gaed  up  and  he  ^aed  doon,  and  he 
aye  said,  *  Oh  yes,  yes,'  juist  like  the  thrashing 
mill  at  Drumsheugh  scraiking  and  girling  till  it's 
fairly  aff,  an*  by-and-by  oot  he  comes  wi'  his 
heads. 


wmmmmim'mgW' 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADVEN    223 

"  '  There  are  fowcr  trumpets,'  says  he.  '  First, 
a  Iceteral  trumpet ;  second,  a  heestorical  trumpet ; 
third,  a  metaphorical  trumpet;  fourth,  a  speeritual 
trumpet.' 

" '  I've  got  ye.'  a'  said  tae  masel,  and  settled 
doon  to  hear  him  on  the  first  head,  for  fear  he 
micht  hae  pints;  but  wull  ye  believe  me,  he 
barely  mentioned  leeteral  till  he  was  aff  tae 
speeritual,  and  then  back  tae  historical,  an'  in 
five  mecnuts  he  had  the  hale  fower  trumpets 
blawing  thegither. 

"  It  wes  maist  exasperatin',  and  a'  saw  Jeems 
watchin'  me — but  that's  naethin'. 

"  *  There  be  many  trumpets,'  says  he,  *  oh  yes, 
an'  it  wes  a  good  trumpet  Zaccheus  heard,'  and 
afore  a'  knew  where  a'  wes  he  hed  startit  again  wi' 
fower  new  heads,  as  if  he  had  never  said  trumpet. 

"  *  A  big  tree,'  he  cries,  '  an'  a  little  man,  oh 
yes,  an'  this  is  what  we  will  be  doin'. 

"  '  First.     We  shall  go  up  the  tree  wi'  Zaccheus. 

"'Second.  We  shall  sit  in  the  branches  wi' 
Zaccheus. 

"  *  Third.  We  shall  come  down  from  the  tree 
wi'  Zaccheus ;  and  if  time  permits, 


I 
I 


224 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


i:  i 


i! 


" '  Fourth.  Wc  shall  be  going  home  wi'  the 
publican.' " 

It  seemed  only  just  to  pay  a  tribute  at  this 
point  to  the  wonderful  presence  of  mind  Mrs. 
Macfadycn  had  shown  amid  unparalleled  diffi- 
culties. 

"  Hoot  awa,"  she  responded  ;  the  meenut  ony 
heads  cam  a'  knew  ma  grund  ;  but  the  times 
at  ween  I  wes  fairly  lost. 

*'  A'll  no  deny,"  and  our  critic  turned  aside  to 
general  reflections,  '■'  that  Mactavish  said  mony 
bonnie  and  affeckin'  things  frae  time  tae  time, 
like  the  glimpses  o'  the  hills  ye  get  when  the 
mist  rolls  awa,  and  he  cam  nearer  tlie  hcrt  than 
the  feck  o'  oor  preachers ;  but  certes  yon  con- 
fusion is  mair  than  us  low  country  fouk  cud  stand. 

"  Juist  when  he  wes  speakin'  aboot  Zaccheus  as 
nice  as  ye  please  —though  whether  he  was  up  the 
tree  or  doon  the  tree  a'  cudna  for  the  life  o'  me 
tell — he  stops  sudden  and  looks  at  us  ower  the 
top  o'  his  spectacles,  which  is  terrible  impressive, 
and  near  dis  instead  o'  speakin'. 

"  We  will  now  come  to  the  third  head  of  this 
discoorse. 


I 


:       ( 


■■I 


.? 


a. 


i 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN  225 
"'  The  trunipct  shall  be  blown,  for,'  says  he,  in  a 
l^in'  o'  whisper,  '  there's  a  hint  o'  oppeesition  here,' 
an'  a'  tell  yc  honestly  a'  lost  hert  a'thc-ither.  for 
here  he  wcs  back  again  amanr  the  trumpets,  and 
a'll  gie  ma  aith  he  never  sae  much  as  mentioned 
that  head  afore. 

"  It's  an  awfu'  peety  that  some  men  dinna  ken 
when  tae  stop  ;  they  micht  see  frae  the  poopit  ; 
If  a'  saw  the  tears  comin'  tae  the  women's  een,  or 
the  men  glowevlns  like  wild  cats  for  fear  they 
sud  brak  doon,  a'd  say  Amen  as  quick  as  Pitten- 
dreigh  aifter  his  goat. 

•'  What  possessed  Maister  Dugald,  as  Lachlan 
ca'd  him,  a'  dinna  ken,  but  aboot  half  nine-an'  he 
begood  at  six~he  set  oot  upon  the  trumpets  again, 
an'  when  he  cudna  get  a  baud  o'  them,  he  says : 

"  *  It  will  be  getting  dark  '  (the  mune  was  fairly 
oot),  '  an'  it  is  time  we  were  considering  our  last 
head.' " 

" '  We  will  now  study  Satan  in  all  his  offices 
and  characteristics.'  " 

"A"  see  they've  been  telling  ye  what  happened," 
and  confusion  covered  Mrs.  Macfadyens  ingenuous 
countenance. 


I  '■'  I 


.v' 


f'i' 


•T 


I  <i  M 


226 


A  WISE  WOMAN 


"  Weel,  as  sure  s  deith  a'  cudna  help  it,  tae  be 
sittin'  on  peens  for  mair  than  twa  oors  tryin'  tae 
get  a  grup  o'  a  man's  heads,  an'  him  tae  play 
hide-and-seek  \vi'  ye,  an'  then  tre  begin  on  Satan 
at  nine  o'clock  is  mair  nor  flesh  and  bluid  cud 
endure. 

"A'  acknowledge  a'  scrapit,  but  a"  houp  tae 
gudeness  a'll  never  be  tempted  like  yon  again. 

•'  It's  a  juagment  on  me  for  ma  pride,  an' 
Jeems  said  that  tae  me,  for  a'  boastit  a'  cudna  be 
beat,  but  anither  oor  o'  Mactavish  wud  hae 
driven  me  dottle  (silly)." 

Then  I  understood  that  Mrs.  Macfadyen  had 
been  humbled  in  the  dust. 


[ 


n     »'  ii 


A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD 
SCHOOL 


I 


tail  1 1 


1 


;| 


I 

A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER 

Drumtochty  was  accustomed  to  break  every  law 
ofhealth,  except  wholesome  food  and  fresh  air,  and 
yet  hud  reduced  the  Psalmist's  farthest  limit  to  an 
average  life-rate.     Our  men  made  no  difference  in 
their  clothes  for  summer  or  winter,  Drumsheugh 
and  one  or  two  of  the  large  •  farmers  condescending 
to  a  topcoat  on   Sabbath,  as  a  penalty  of  their 
position,    and    without    regard    to    temperature. 
They  wore   their   blacks   at   a   funeral,    refusin^r 
to  cover  them  with  anything,  out  of  respect  to 
the  deceased,  and  standing  longest  ixi  the  kirkyard 
when    the   north    wind    was    blowing    across    a 
hundred  miles  of  snow.     If  the  rain  was  pouring 
at    the    Junction,  then    Drumtochty  stood   two 
minutes  longer  through  sheer  native  dourness  till 
each  man  had  a  cascade   Irom   the  tail   of   his 


fc 


\ih 


6 


I  i 


?   I 


230     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

coat,  and  hazarded  the  suggestion,  halfway  to 
Kildrunimie,  that  it  had  been  "a  bit  scrowie," 
a  "scrowie"  being  as  far  short  of  a  "shoor"  as  a 
"shoor"  fell  below  "vveet." 

This  sustained  defiance  of  the  elements  provoked 
occasional  judgments  in  the  shape  of  a"hoast" 
(cough),  and  the  head  of  the  house  was  then 
exhorted  by  his  women  folk  to  "change  his  feet" 
if  he  had  happened  to  walk  through  a  burn  on 
his  way  home,  and  was  pestered  generally  with 
sanitary  precautions.  It  is  right  to  add  the 
the  gudeman  treated  such  advice  with  contempt, 
regarding  it  as  suitable  for  the  effeminacy  of 
towns,  but  not  seriously  intended  for  Drumtochty 
Sandy  Stewart  "  napped "  stones  on  the  road 
in  his  shirt  sleeves,  wet  or  fair,  summer  and 
winter,  till  he  was  persuaded  to  retire  from  active 
duty  at  eighty-five,  and  he  spent  ten  years  more 
in  regretting  his  hastiness  anil  criticising  his 
successor.  The  ordinary  course  of  life,  with  fine 
air  and  contented  minds,  was  to  do  a  full  share  of 
work  till  seventy,  and  then  to  look  after  "orra" 
jobs  well  into  the  eighties,  and  to  "slip  awa" 
within   sight  of  ninety.      Persons   above   ninety 


If 


t  ■> 


I 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER  231 

were  understood  to  be  acquitting  tliemsclvcs  with 
credit,  and  assumed  airs  of  autiiority,  brushing 
aside  the  opinions  of  seventy  as  immature,  and 
confirming  tlieir  conclusions  with  illustrations 
drawn  from  the  end  of  last  century. 

When  Hillocks'  brother  so  far  forgot  himself  as 
to  "slip  awa"  at  sixty,  that  worthy  man  was 
scandalized,  and  offered  laboured  explanations  at 
the  "  bccrial." 

"It's  an  awfu'  business  ony  w\  ye  look  at  it, 
an'  a  sair  trial  tae  us  a'.  A'  never  heard  tell  o' 
sic  a  thing  in  oor  family  afore,  an'  it's  no  easy 
accoontin'  for't. 

"  The  gudewife  was  sayin'  he  wes  never  the 
same  sin'  a  wect  nicht  he  lost  himsel  on  the  muir 
and  slept  below  a  bush  ;  but  that's  neither  here 
nor  there.  A'm  thinkin'  he  sappit  his  constitution 
thae  twa  years  he  wes  grieve  aboot  England. 
That  wes  thirty  years  syne,  but  ye're  never  the 
same  aifter  thae  foreign  climates." 

Drumtochty    listened    patiently    to    Hillocks' 
apologia,  but  was  not  satisfied. 

"  It's  clean  havers  aboot  the  muir.    Losh  keep's, 
we've  a'  sleepit  cot  and  never  been  a  hair  the  waun 


■k 


l\ 


I     1 


232  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"A'  admit  that  England  micht  hae  dune  the 
job  ;  it's  no  cannie  stravagin'  yon  wy  frae  place 
tae  place,  but  Drums  never  complained  tae  me  as 
if  he  hed  been  nippit  in  the  Sooth." 

The  parish  had,  in  fact,  lost  confidence  in 
Drums  after  his  wayward  experiment  with  a 
potato -digging  machine,  which  turned  out  a 
lamentable  failure,  and  his  premature  departure 
confirmed  our  vague  impression  of  his  character. 

"  He's  awa  noo,"  Drunisheugh  summed  up, 
after  opinion  had  time  to  form  ;  "  an'  there  were 
waur  fouk  than  Drums,  but  there's  nae  doot  he 
wes  a  wee  flichty." 

When  illness  had  tlie  audacity  to  attack  a 
Drumtochty  man,  it  was  described  as  a  "whup," 
and  was  treated  by  the  men  with  a  fine  negligence. 
Hillocks  was  sitting  in  the  Post  Ofiiceone  afternoon 
when  I  looked  in  for  my  letters,  and  the  right  side 
of  his  face  was  blazing  red.  His  subject  of 
discourse  was  the  prospects  of  the  turnip  "  brccr," 
but  he  casually  explained  that  he  was  waiting 
for  medical  adv.ce. 

"The  gudcwife  is  keepin*  up  a  ding-dong  frae 
mornin'   till   nicht  aboot   ma  face,  and  a'm  fair 


,x 


a 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER  233 

deaved  (deafened),  so  a'm  watcliin'  for  MacLure 
tae  get  a  bottle  as  he  comes  wast;  yon's  him 


i> 


noo. 

The  doctor  made  his  diagnosis  from  horseback 
on  sight,  and  stated  the  result  with  that  admirable 
clearness  which  endeared  him  to  Drumtochty. 

"Confoond  ye,  Hillocks,  what  are  ye  ploitcrin' 
aboot  here  for  in  the  weet  wi'  a  face  like  a  boiled 
beet  ?  Div  ye  no  ken  that  yeVe  a  titch  o'  the 
rose  (erysipelas),  and  ocht  tae  be  in  the  hoose  ? 
Gae  hame  wi'  ye  afore  a'  leave  the  bit,  and  send  a 
haflin  for  some  medicine.  Ye  donnerd  idiot,  are 
ye  ettlin  tae  follow  Drums  afore  yir  time?" 
And  the  medical  attendant  o.<"  Drumtochty 
continued  his  invective  till  Hillocks  started,  and 
still  pursued  his  retreating  figure  with  medical 
directions  of  a  simple  and  practical  character. 

"A'm  watchin',  an'  peety  ye  if  ye  pit  aff  time. 
Keep  yir  bed  the  mornin',  and  dinna  show  yir 
face  in  the  fields  till  a'  see  ye.  A'll  gie  ye  a  cry 
on  Monday— sic  an  aukl  fule— but  there's  no  ane 
o'  them  tae  mind  anither  in  the  hale  pairish  " 

Hillocks'  wife  informed  the  kirkyaird  that  the 
doctor  "gied  the  gudeman  an  awfu'  clearin',"  and 


IH 


234     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 


i 

1 


that  Hillocks  "wes  keepin'  the  hoose,"  which 
meant  that  the  patient  had  tea  breakfast,  and  at 
that  time  was  wandering  about  the  farm  buildings 
in  an  easy  undress  with  his  head  in  a  plaid. 

It  was  impossible  for  a  doctor  to  earn  even  the 
most  modest  competence  from  a  people  of  such 
scandalous  health,  and  so  MacLure  had  annexed 
neighbouring  parishes.  His  house — little  more 
than  a  cottage — stood  on  the  roadside  among  the 
pines  towards  the  head  of  our  Glen,  and  from  this 
base  of  operations  he  dominat-d  the  wild  glen 
that  broke  the  wall  of  the  Grampians  above 
Drumtochty — where  the  snow  drifts  were  twelve 
feet  deep  in  winter,  and  the  only  way  of  passage 
at  times  was  the  channel  of  the  river — and  the 
moorland  district  westwards  till  he  came  to  the 
Dunleith  sphere  of  influence,  where  there  were 
four  doctors  and  a  hydropathic.  Drumtochty 
in  its  length,  which  was  eight  miles,  and  its 
breadth,  which  was  four,  lay  in  his  hand  ;  besides 
a  glen  behind,  unknown  to  the  world,  which  in 
the  night  time  he  visited  at  the  risk  of  life,  for  the 
way  thereto  was  across  the  big  moor  with  its  peat 
holes  and  treacherous  bogs.     And  he  held  the 


J"' 


Hi 


ii 


mmmmmm 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER  235 

land  eastwards  towards  Muirtown  so  far  as 
Geordie,  the  Drumtochty  post,  travelled  every 
day,  and  could  carry  word  that  the  doctor  was 
wanted.  He  did  his  best  for  the  need  of  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  in  this  wild,  straggling 
district,  year  in,  year  out.  in  the  snow  and  in  the 
heat,  in  the  dark  and  in  the  light,  without  rest, 
and  without  holiday  for  forty  years. 

One  horse  could  not  do  the  work  of  this  man, 
but  we  liked  best  to  see  him  on  his  old  white 
mare,  who  died, the  week  after  her  master,  and 
the  passing  of  the  two  did  our  hearts  good.     It 
was  not  that  he  rode  beautifully,  for  he  broke 
every  canon  of  art,  flying  with  lu's  arms,  stooping 
till  he  seemed  to  be  speaking  into  Jess's  ears,  and 
rising  in  the  saddle  beyond  all  necessity,     l^ut  he 
could  rise  faster,  stay  longer  in  the  saddle,  and 
had  a  firmer  grip  with  his  knees  than  any  one  I 
ever  met,  and  it  was  all  for  mercy's  sake.     When 
the  reapers  in  harvest  time  saw  a  figure  whirling 
past  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  or  the  family  at  the  foot 
of  Glen   Urtach,  gathered  round    the  fire   on  a 
winter's  night,  heard  the  rattle  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
on  the  road,  or  the  shepherds,  out  after  the  sheep, 


236     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

traced  a  black  speck  moving  across  the  snow  to 
the  upper  glen,  they  knew  it  was  the  doctor,  and, 
without  being  conscious  of  it,  wished  him  God 
speed. 

Before  and  behind  his  saddle  were  strapped  the 
instruments  and  medicines  the  doctor  might  want, 
for  he  never  knew  what  was  before  him.  There 
were  no  specialists  in  Drumtochty,  so  this  man 
had  to  do  everything  as  best  he  could,  and  as 
quickly.  He  was  chest  doctor  and  doctor  for 
every  other  organ  as  well ;  he  was  accoucheur 
and  surgeon ;  he  was  oculist  and  aurist ;  he  was 
dentist  and  chloroform ist,  besides  being  chemist 
and  druggist.  It  was  often  told  how  he  was  far 
up  Glen  Urt:ich  when  the  feeders  of  the  threshing 
mill  caught  young  Burnbrae,  and  how  he  only 
stopped  to  change  horses  at  his  house,  and 
galloped  all  the  way  to  Burnbrae,  and  flung 
himself  off  his  horse  and  amputated  the  arm,  and 
saved  the  lad's  life. 

"You  wud  hac  thocht  that  every  meenut  was 
an  hour,"  said  Jamie  Soutai,  who  had  been  at  the 
threshing,  " an'  all  never  forget  the  puir  lad  lying 
as  white  as  deith  on  the  floor  o'  the  loft,  wi'  his 


I 


1 


A  GENERAL  PRACTII  lONER  237 

head  on  a  sheaf,  an'  lUirnbrae  haudin'  the  bandage 
ticht  an'  prayin'  a'  the  while,  and  the  niither 
greetin'  in  the  corner. 

"'Will  he  never  come?'  she  cries,  an'  a'  heard 
the  soonJ  o'  the  horse's  feet  on  the  road  a  mile 
awa  in  the  frosty  air. 

"'The  Lord  be  praised  ! '  said  Burnbrae,  and  a' 
sh'ppit  doon  the  ladder  as  the  doctor  came  skelpin' 
intae  the  dose,  the  foam  fleein'  frae  his  horse's 
mooth. 

"' Whar  is  he  .?'  was  a'  that  passed  his  lips,  an' 
in  five  meenuts  he  hed  him  on  the  feedin'  board, 
and  wes  at  his  wark— sic  vvark,  necburs— but  he 
did  it  weel.  An'  ae  thing  a'  thocht  rael  thochtfu' 
o'  him  :  he  first  sent  aff  the  laddie's  mither  tae 
get  a  bed  ready. 

'"Noo  that's  feenished,  and  his  constitution  'ill 
dae  the  rest,'  and  he  carried  the  lad  doon  the 
ladder  in  his  airms  like  a  bairn,  and  laid  him  in 
his  bed,  and  waits  aside  him  till  he  wes  sl-epin', 
and  then  says  he:  'Burnbrae,  yir  a  gey  lari  never 
tae  say  "  Collie,  will  ye  lick  ?  "  for  a'  hevn.i  tasted 
meat  for  saxteen  hoors.' 

"It  was  michty  tae  see  him  come  intae  ths 


1  f 

if 


238  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

yaird  that  day,  neeburs ;  the  verra  look  o'  him 
wes  victory." 

Jamie's  cynicism  slipped  off  in  the  enthusiasm 
of  this  reminiscence,  and  he  expressed  the  feeling 
of  Drumtochty.  No  one  sent  for  MacLure  save 
in  great  straits,  and  the  sight  of  him  put  courage 
in  sinking  hearts.  But  this  was  not  by  the  grace 
of  his  apppiiance,  or  the  advantage  of  a  good 
bedside  manner.  A  tall,  gaunt,  loosely  made  man, 
without  an  ounce  of  superfluous  flesh  on  his  body, 
his  face  burned  a  dark  brick  colour  by  constant 
exposure  to  the  weather,  red  hair  and  beard 
turning  grey,  honest  blue  eyes  that  looked  you 
ever  in  the  face,  huge  hands  with  wrist  bones  like 
the  shank  of  a  ham,  and  a  voice  that  hurled  his 
salutations  across  two  fields,  he  suggested  the 
moor  rather  than  the  drawing-room.  But  what 
a  clever  hand  it  was  in  an  operation,  as  delicate 
as  a  woman's,  and  what  a  kindly  voice  it  was  in 
the  humble  room  where  the  shepherd's  wife  was 
weeping  by  her  man's  bedside.  He  was  "  ill 
pitten  thegither "  to  begin  with,  but  many  of  his 
physical  defects  were  the  penalties  of  his  work, 
and  endeared  him  to  the  Glen.     That  ugly  scar 


m 


li 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER 


239 


that  cut  into  his  right  eyebrow  and  gave  him 
such  a  sinister  expression,  was  got  one  night  Jess 
slipped  on  the  ice  and  laid  him  insensible  eight 
miles  from  home.  His  limp  marked  the  big 
snowstorm  in  the  fifties,  when  his  horse  missed 
the  road  in  Glen  Urtach,  and  they  rolled  together 
in  a  drift.  MacLure  escaped  with  a  broken  leg 
and  the  fracture  of  three  ribs,  but  he  never  walked 
like  other  men  again.  He  could  not  swing  himself 
into  the  saddle  without  making  two  attempts  and 
holding  Jess's  mane.  Neither  can  you  "  warstle  " 
through  the  peat  bogs  and  snow  drifts  for  forty 
winters  without  a  touch  of  rheumatism.  But  they 
were  honourable  scars,  and  for  such  risks  of  life 
men  get  the  Victoria  Cross  in  other  fields.  Mac- 
Lure  got  nothing  but  the  secret  affection  of  the 
Glen,  which  knew  that  none  had  ever  done 
one-tenth  as  much  for  it  as  this  ungainly,  twisted, 
battered  figure,  and  I  have  seen  a  Drumtochty 
face  soften  at  the  sight  of  MacLure  limping  to 
his  horse. 

Mr  Hopps  earned  the  ill-will  of  the  Glen  for 
ever  by  criticising  the  doctor's  dress,  but  indeed 
it  would  have  filled  any  townsman  with  amazement. 


J40     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 


Pj 


I     i     'l 


■I 


Black  lie  wore  once  a  year,  on  Sacrament  Sunday, 
and,  if  possible,  at  a  funeral ;  topcoat  or  water- 
proof never.  His  jacket  and  waistcoat  were 
rough  homespun  of  Glen  Urtach  wool,  which 
threw  off  the  wet  like  a  duck's  back,  and  below 
he  was  clad  in  shepherd's  tartan  trousers,  which 
disappeared  into  unpolished  riding  boots.  His 
shirt  was  grey  flannel,  and  he  was  uncertain  about 
a  collar,  but  certain  as  to  a  tie  which  he  never 
lidd,  his  beard  doing  instead,  and  his  hat  was 
soft  felt  of  four  colours  and  seven  di^erent  shapes. 
His  point  of  distinction  in  dress  was  the  trousers, 
and  they  were  the  subject  of  unending  speculation. 

"  Some  threep  that  he's  worn  thae  eedentical 
pair  the  last  twenty  year,  an  a'  mind  masel  him 
gettin'  a  tear  ahint,  when  he  was  crossin*  oor 
palin',  and  the  mend's  still  veesible. 

"  Ithers  declare  'at  he's  got  a  wab  o*  claith,  and 
hes  a  new  pair  made  in  Muirtown  amce  in  the 
twa  year  maybe,  and  keeps  them  in  the  garden 
till  the  new  look  wears  aff. 

"  For  ma  ain  pairt,"  Soutar  used  to  declare,  "  a* 
canna  mak  up  my  mind,  but  there's  ae  thing  sure, 
the  Glen  wud  not  like  tae  see  him  withoot  them  : 


II 


I 


mmmmmasm 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER  241 

it  wud  be  a  shock  tae  confidence.  There's  no 
muckle  o'  tlie  check  left,  but  ye  can  aye  tell  it, 
and  when  ye  see  th^e  breeks  comin'  in  ye  ken 
that  if  human  pooer  can  save  yir  bairn's  life  it  'ill 
be  dune." 

The  confidence  of  the  Glen-and  tributary 
states-was  unbounded,  and  rested  partly  on  long 
experience  of  the  doctor's  resources,  and  partly 
on  his  hereditary  connection. 

"  Kis  father  was  here  afore  him,"  Mrs.  Macfadyen 
used  to  explain;  "atween  them  they've  hed  the 
countyside  for  weel  0.1  fae  a  century;  if  MacLure 
disna  understand  oor  constitution,  wha  dis,  a' 
wud  like  tae  ask  > " 

For  Drumtochty  had  its  own  constitution  and 
a  special  throat  disease,  as  became  a  parish  which 
was  quite  self-contained  between  the  woods  and 
the  hills,  and  not  dependent  on  the  lowlands  either 
for  its  diseases  or  its  doctors. 

"  He's  a  skilly  man,  Doctor  MacLure,"  continued 
my  friend  Mrs.  Macfadyen,  whose  judgment  on 
sermons  or  anything  else  was  seldom  at  fault ; 
"an'  a  kind-hearted,  though  o'  coorse  he  hes  his 
faults  like  us  a',  an'  he  disna  tribble  the  Kirk  often 

Q 


In 


.4 


« 


242     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"  He  aye  can  tell  what's  wrang  wi'  a  body,  an, 
maistly  he  can  put  ye  richt,  an*  there's  nae  new- 
fangled wys  wi'  him :  a  blister  for  the  ootside 
an'  Epsom  salts  for  the  inside  dis  his  wark,  an' 
they  say  there's  no  an  herb  on  the  hills  he  disna 
ken. 

"  If  we're  tae  dee,  we're  tae  dee ;  an'  if  we're 
tae  live,  we're  tae  live,"  concluded  Elspcth,  with 
sound  Calvinistic  logic  ;  "  but  a'U  say  this  for  the 
doctor,  that  whether  yir  tae  live  or  dee,  he  can 
aye  keep  up  a  shairp  meisture  on  the  skin. 

"  But  he's  no  verra  ceevil  gin  ye  bring  him  when 
there's  naethin'  wrang,"  and  Mrs.  Macfadyen's 
face  reflected  another  of  Mr.  Hopps'  misadventures 
of  which  Hillocks  held  the  copyright. 

"  Hopps'  laddie  ate  grosarts  (gooseberries)  till 
they  hed  to  sit  up  a'  nicht  wi'  him,  and  naething 
wud  do  but  they  maun  hae  the  doctor,  an'  he 
writes  'immediately'  on  a  slip  o'  paper. 

"  Weel,  MacLure  had  been  awa  a'  nicht  wi'  a 
shepherd's  wife  Dunleith  wy,  and  he  comes  here 
withoot  drawin'  bridle,  mud  up  tae  the  een. 

"'What's  a  dae  here.  Hillocks.'*  he  cries; 
•  it's  no  an  accident,  is't  ?  *  and  when  he  got  afif 


i  r 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER  243 

his  horse  he  cud  hardly  stand  vvi'  stiffness  and 
tire. 

"'It's  nane  o*  us,  doctor;  it's  Hopps'  laddie; 
he's  been  eatin'  ower  mony  berries.' 

"  If  he  didna  turn  on  me  like  a  tiger. 

"  *  Div  ye  mean  tae  say * 

"  •  Weesht,  weesht,'  an'  I  tried  tae  quiet  him, 
for  Hopps'  wes  comin'  oot. 

•' '  Well,  doctor,'  begins  he,  as  brisk  as  a  magpie, 
'you're  here  at  last;  there's  no  hurry  with  yon 
Scotchmen.  My  boy  has  been  sick  all  night,  and 
I've  never  had  one  wink  of  sleep.  You  might 
have  come  a  little  quicker,  that's  all  I've  got 
to  say.' 

"'We've  mair  tae  dae  in  Drumtochty  than 
attend  tae  every  bairn  that  hes  a  sair  stomach/ 
and  a'  saw  MacLure  wes  roosed. 

"'I'm  astonished  to  hear  you  speak.  Our 
doctor  at  home  always  says  to  Mrs.  'Opps,  "  Look 
on  me  as  a  family  friend,  Mrs.  'Opps,  and  send 
for  me  though  it  be  only  a  headache." ' 

"  *  He'd  be  mair  sparin'  o'  his  offers  if  he  hed 
four  an'  twenty  mile  tae  look  aifter.  There's 
naething  wrang  wi'  yir  laddie  but  greed.     Gie 


ll 


244     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 


M: 


I  v, 

'.a 


him  a  gucic  dose  o'  castor  oil  and  stop  his  meat 
for  a  day,  an'  he  'ill  be  a'  richt  the  morn.* 

'"  He  'ill  not  take  castor  oil,  doctor.  We  have 
given  up  those  barbarous  medicines.' 

'"Whatna  k'ind  o'  medicines  hae  ye  noo  in 
the  Sooth  ? ' 

"  *  Well,  you  sec,  Dr.  MacLure,  we're  homceo- 
pathists,  and  I've  my  little  chest  here,'  and  oot 
Hopps  comes  wi'  his  boxy. 

"'Let's  sec't,'  an'  MacLure  sits  doon  and  taks 
oot  the  bit  bottles,  and  he  reads  the  names  wi'  a 
lauch  every  time. 

** '  r>clIadonna ;  did  ye  ever  hear  the  like  ? 
Aconite;  it  cowes  a'.  Nux  Vomica.  What  next? 
Weel,  ma  mannie,'  he  sa»  tae  Hopps,  'it's  a  fine 
ploy,  and  ye  'ill  better  gang  on  wi'  the  Nux  till 
it's  dune,  and  gie  him  ony  ither  o'  the  sweeties 
he  fancies. 

"'Noo,  Hillocks,  a'  maun  be  aff  tae  see 
Drumsheugh's  grieve,  for  he's  doon  wi'  the  fever, 
an'  it's  tae  be  a  teuch  fecht.  A*  hinna  time  tae 
wait  for  dinner ;  gie  me  some  cheese  an'  cake  in 
ma  haund,  and  Jess  'ill  tak  a  pail  o*  meal  an' 
water. 


' 


■  I- 


mmmmmmmm 


in 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER  245 

" '  Fee ;  a'm  no  wantin'  yir  fees,  man  ;  vvi'  that 
boxy  ye  dinna  need  a  doctor;  na,  na,  gie  yir 
siller  tae  sonic  puir  body,  Mai^tcr  Hopps,'  an'  he 
was  doon  the  road  as  hard  as  he  cud  lick." 

His  fees  were  pretty  much  what  the  folk  chose 
to  give  him,  and  he  colh'cted  tlxMii  once  a  year 
at  Kiidrummic  fair. 

"Weel,  doctor,  what  am  a'  awin'  ye  for  the 
wife  and  bairn  >  Ye  'ill  need  three  notes  for  that 
nicht  ye  stayed  in  the  hoose  an'  a'  the  vcesits." 

"  Havers, "  MacLure  would  answer,  "  prices  are 
low,  a'm  hearing;  gie's  thirty  shillings." 

"  No,  a'll  no,  or  the  wife  'ill  tak  ma  ears  off," 
and  it  was  settled  for  two  pounds. 

Lord  Kilspindie  gave  him  a  free  house  and 
fields,  and  one  way  or  other,  Drumsheugh  told  me, 
the  doctor  might  get  in  about  ;^i5o  a  year,  out  of 
which  he  had  to  pay  his  old  housekeeper's  wages 
and  a  boy's,  and  keep  two  horses,  besides  tlie  cost 
of  instruments  and  books,  which  he  bought  through 
a  friend  in  Edinburgh  with  much  judgment. 

There  was  only  one  man  who  ever  complained 
of  the  doctor's  charges,  and  that  was  the  new 
farmer  of  Milton,  who  was  so  good  that  he  was 


l. 


\i   ' 


u 


246     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

above  both  churches,  and  held  a  meeting  in  his 
barn.  (It  was  Milton  the  Glen  supposed  at  first 
to  be  a  Mormon,  but  I  can't  go  into  that  now.) 
He  offered  MacLure  a  pound  less  than  he  asked, 
and  two  tracts  whereupDn  MacLure  expressed 
his  opinion  of  Milton,  both  from  a  theological 
and  social  standpoint,  with  such  vigour  and 
frankness  that  an  attentive  audience  of  Drum- 
tochty  men  could  hardly  contain  themselves. 

Jamie  Soutar  was  selling  his  pig  at  the  time, 
and  missed  the  meeting,  but  he  hastened  to 
condole  with  Milton,  who  was  complaining  every- 
where of  the  doctor's  language. 

"Ye  did  richt  tae  resist  him;  it  'ill  maybe 
roose  the  Glen  tae  mak  a  stand ;  he  fair  bauds 
them  in  bondage. 

"  Thirty  shillings  for  twal  veesits,  and  him  no 
mair  than  seeven  mile  awa,  an'  a'm  telt  there 
werena  mair  than  four  at  nicht. 

"Ye  'ill  hae  the  sympathy  o'  the  Glen,  for 
a'  body  kens  yir  as  free  wi'  yir  siller  as  yir 
tracts. 

"Wes't  'Beware  o'  gude  warks'  ye  offered 
him  ?     Man,    ye    chose    it    weel.   for    he's    been 


MV 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER  247 

colleckin'  sae  mony  thae  forty  years,  a'm  feared 
for  him. 

"AVe  often  thocht  cor  doctor's  little  better 
than  the  Gude  Samaritan,  an'  the  Pharisees  didna 
think  muckle  o'  his  chance  aither  in  this  warld 
or  that  Vt''iich  is  tae  come." 


h. 


I 


1^  . 

15  i 


li 


II 

THROUGH  THE  FLOOD 

Doctor  MacLure  did  not  lead  a  solemn  pro- 
cession from  the  sick  bed  to  the  dining-room,  and 
give  his  opinion  from  the  hearthrug  with  an  air  of 
wisdom  bordering  on  the  supernatural,  because 
neither  the  Drumtoclity  houses  nor  his  manners 
were  on  that  large  scale.  He  was  accustomed  to 
deliver  himself  in  the  yard,  and  to  conclude  his 
directions  with  one  foot  in  the  stirrup  ;  but  when 
he  left  the  room  where  the  life  of  Annie  Mitchell 
was  ebbing  slowly  away,  our  doctor  said  not  one 
word,  and  at  the  sight  )f  his  face  her  husband's 
heart  was  troubled. 

He  was  a  dull  man,  Tammas,  who  could  not 
read  the  meaning  of  a  sign,  and  laboured  under  a 
perpetual  disability  of  speech  ;  but  love  was  eyes 
to  him  that  day,  and  a  mouth. 

"  Is't  as  bad  as  yir  lookin',  doctor  ?  tell's  the 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD 


249 


truth ;  wull  Annie  no  come  through  ? "  and 
Tammas  looked  MacLure  straight  in  the  face, 
who  never  flinched  his  duty  or  said  smooth  things. 

"A*  wud  gie  onything  tae  say  Annie  hes  a 
chance,  but  a'  daurna  ;  a'  doot  yir  gaein'  tae  lose 
her,  Tammas." 

MacLure  was  in  the  saddle,  and  as  he  gave  his 
judgment,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Tammas's  shoulder 
with  one  of  the  rare  caresses  that  pass  between 
men. 

"  It's  a  sair  business,  but  ye  'ill  play  the  man 
and  no  vex  Annie;  she  'ill  dae  her  best,  a'll 
warrant." 

"An'  a'll  dae  mine,"  and  Tammas  gave 
MacLure's  hand  a  grip  that  would  have  crushed 
the  bones  of  a  weakling.  Drumtochty  felt  in 
such  moments  the  brotherliness  of  this  rough- 
looking  man,  and  loved  him. 

Tammas  hid  his  face  in  Jess's  mane,  who 
looked  rounc  with  sorrow  in  her  beautiful  eyes, 
for  she  had  seen  many  tragedies,  and  in  this 
silent  sympathy  the  stricken  man  drank  his  cup, 
drop  by  drop. 

"  A'  wesna  prepared  for  this,  for  a'  aye  thocht 


U 


f 


li! 


2SO     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

she  wud  live  the  langest.  .  .  .  She's  younger  than 
me  by  ten  years,  and  never  wes  ill.  .  .  .  We've 
been  mairit  twal  year  laist  Martinmas,  but  it's 
juist  like  a  year  the  day.  ...  A  wes  never 
worthy  o*  her,  the  bonniest,  snoddest  (neatest), 
kindliest  lass  in  the  Glen.  ...  A'  never  cud  mak 
oot  hoo  she  ever  lookit  at  me,  'at  hesna  hed 
ae  word  tae  say  aboot  her  till  it's  ower  late.  .  .  . 
She  didna  cuist  up  tae  me  that  a*  wesna  worthy 
o'  her,  no  her,  but  aye  she  said,  *Yir  ma  ain 
gudema:.,  and  nane  cud  be  kinder  tae  me.'  .  ,  . 
An*  a'  wes  minded  tae  be  kind,  but  a*  see  noo 
mony  little  trokes  a'  micht  hae  dune  for  her,  and 
noo  the  time  is  bye.  .  .  .  Naebody  kens  hoo 
patient  she  wes  wi'  me,  and  aye  made  the  best 
o'  me,  an'  never  pit  me  tae  shame  afore  the  fouk. 
.  .  .  An'  we  never  lied  ae  cross  word,  no  ane  in 
twal  year.  .  .  ,  We  were  mair  nor  man  and  wife, 
we  were  sweethearts  a*  the  time.  .  .  .  Oh,  ma 
bonnie  lass,  what  'ill  the  bairnies  an'  me  dae 
withoot  ye,  Annie  ?  " 

The  winter  night  was  falling  fast,  the  snow  lay 
deep  upon  the  ground,  and  the  merciless  north 
wind    moaned   through    the    close    as    Tammas 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD  251 

wrestled  with  his  sorrow  dry-eyed,  for  tears  were 
denied  Drumtochty  men.  Neither  the  doctor  nor 
Jess  moved  hand  or  foot,  but  their  hearts  were 
with  their  fellow  creature,  and  at  length  the 
doctor  made  a  sign  to  Marget  Howe,  uho  had 
come  out  in  search  of  Tammas,  and  now  stood 
by  his  side. 

"Dinna   mourn    tae    the   brakin'    o'   yir  hert, 
Tammas,"  she  said,   "as  if  Annie  an'   you  hed 
never  luved.     Neither  death  nor  time  can  pairt 
them  that  luve  ;  there's  naethin'  in  a'  the  warld 
sae  strong  as  luve.     If  Annie  gaes  frae  the  sicht 
o'  yir  een  she  'ill  come  the  nearer  tae  yir  hert. 
She  wants  tae  see  ye,  and  tae  hear  ye  say  that 
ye  'ill  never  forget  her  nicht  nor  day  till  ye  meet 
in  the  land  where  there's  nae  pairtin'.     Oh,  a'  ken 
what  a'm  sayin',  for  it's  five  year  noo  sin  George 
gied  awa,  an'  he's  mair  wi'  me  noo  than  when  he 
wes  in  Edinboro'  and  I  wes  in  Drumtochty." 

"Thank  ye  kindly.  Marget;  thae  are  gude 
words  and  true,  an'  ye  hev  the  richt  tae  say 
them  ;  but  a'  canna  dae  without  seein'  Annie 
comin'  tae  meet  me  in  the  gloamin',  an'  gaein'  in 
an'  cot  the  hoose,  an'  hearin'  her  ca'  me  by  ma 


>i 


I 


252  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

name,  an'  a'll  no  can  tell  her  rliat  a'  luve  her 
when  there's  nae  Annie  in  the  hoose, 

"  Can  naethin'  be  dune,  doctor  ?  Ye  savit  Flora 
Cammil,  and  young  Burnbrae,  an'  yon  shepherd's 
wife  Dunleith  wy,  an'  we  were  a'  sae  prood  o'  ye, 
an'  pleased  tae  think  that  ye  hed  kecpit  deith 
frae  anither  hanie.  Can  ye  no  think  o'  somethin' 
tae  help  Annie,  and  gie  her  back  tae  her  man 
and  bairnies?"  and  Tammas  searched  the  doctor's 
face  in  the  cold,  weird  light. 

"  There's  nae  pooer  in  heaven  or  airth  like  luve," 
Marget  said  to  me  afterwards;  "it  maks  the 
weak  strong  and  the  dumb  tae  speak.  Oor  herts 
were  as  water  afore  Tammas's  words,  an*  a'  saw 
the  doctor  shake  in  his  saddle.  A'  never  kent 
till  that  meenut  hoo  he  hed  a  share  in  a'body's 
grief,  an'  carried  the  heaviest  wecht  o*  a'  the 
Glen.  A'  peetied  him  wi'  Tammas  lookin'  at  him 
sae  wistfully,  as  if  he  hed  the  keys  o'  life  an' 
deith  in  his  hands.  But  he  wes  honest,  and 
wudna  hold  oot  a  false  houp  tae  deceive  a  sore 
liert  or  win  escape  for  himsel'," 

"Ye  needna  plead  wi'  me,  Tammas,  to  dae  the 
best  a'  can  for  yir  wife.     Man,  a'  kent  her  lang 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD 


2fr3 


her 


afore  ye  ever  luved  her ;  a'  brocht  her  intae  the 
warld,  and  a'  saw  her  through  the  fever  v/hen  she 
was  a  bit  lassikie ;  a'  closed  her  mither's  een,  and 
it  wes  me  hed  tae  tell  her  she  wes  an  orphan, 
an'  nae  man  wes  better  pleased  when  she  got  a 
gude  husband,  and  a'  l.elpit  her  wi'  her  fower 
bairns.  A've  naither  wife  nor  bairns  o'  ma  own, 
an'  a'  coont  a'  the  fouk  o'  the  Glen  ma  family. 
Div  ye  think  a*  wudna  save  Annie  if  I  cud  ?  If 
there  wes  a  man  in  Muirtown  at  cud  dae  mair 
for  her,  a'd  have  him  this  verra  nicht,  but  a'  the 
doctors  in  Perthshire  are  helpless  for  this  tribble. 

"Tammas,  ma  puir  fallow,  if  it  could  avail, 
a'  tell  ye  a*  wud  lay  doon  this  auld  worn-oot 
ruckle  o'  a  body  o'  mine  juist  tae  see  ye  baith 
sittin'  at  the  fireside,  an'  the  bairns  roond  ye, 
couthy  an'  canty  again ;  but  it's  no  tae  be, 
Tammas,  it's  no  tae  be." 

"  When  a'  lookit  at  the  doctor's  face,"  Marget 
said,  "a'  thocht  him  the  winsomest  man  a'  ever 
saw.  He  wes  transfigured  that  nicht,  for  a'm 
judging  there's  nae  transfiguration  like  luve." 

"  It's  God's  wull  an'  maun  be  borne,  but  it's 
a  sair  wull  for  me,  an'  a'm  no  ungratefu'  tae  you, 


in 


M 


Hi 


I  * 


(I 


*  I 


254     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

doctor,  for  a*  yeVe  dune  and  what  ye  said  the 
nlcht,"  and  Tamnias  went  back  to  sit  witii  Annie 
for  the  last  time. 

Jess  picked  her  way  through  the  deep  snow  to 
the  main  road,  with  a  skill  that  came  of  long 
experience,  and  the  doctor  held  converse  with  her 
according  to  his  wont. 

"Eh,  Jess  wumman,  yon  wes  the  hardest  wark 
a'  hae  tac  face,  and  a'  wud  raither  hae  ta'en  ma 
chance  o'  anithcr  row  in  a  Glen  Urtach  drift  than 
tell  Tammas  Mitchell  his  wife  wes  deein*. 

"A*  said  she  cudna  be  cured,  and  it  wes  true, 
for  there's  juist  ae  man  in  the  land  fit  fort,  and 
they  micht  as  weel  try  tae  get  the  mune  oot 
o'  heaven.  Sae  a'  said  naethin'  tae  vex  Tammas's 
hert,  for  it's  heavy  eneuch  withoot  regrets. 

"  But  it's  hard,  Jess,  that  money  wuU  buy  life 
after  a',  an'  if  Annie  wes  a  duchess  her  man 
wudna  lose  her ;  but  bein'  only  a  puir  cottar's 
wife,  fihe  maun  dee  afore  the  week's  oot." 

"  Gin  we  hed  him  the  morn  there's  little  doot 
she  wud  be  saved,  for  he  hesna  lost  mair  than 
five  per  cent,  o'  his  cases,  and  they  'ill  be  puir 
toon's  craturs,  no  strappin'  women  like  Annie. 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD 


HS 


"It's  oot  o'  the  question,  Jess,  sae  hurry  up, 
lass,  for  we've  hed  a  heavy  day.  But  it  wud  be 
the  grandest  thing  that  was  ever  dune  in  the 
Glen  in  oor  time  if  it  could  be  managed  by  hook 
or  crook. 

"We  'ill  gang  and  see  Drumsheugh,  Jess; 
he's  anither  man  sin'  Geordie  Hoo's  deith,  and 
he  wes  aye  kinder  than  fouk  kent ; "  and  the 
doctor  passed  at  a  gallop  through  the  village, 
whose  lights  shone  across  the  white  frost-bound 
road. 

"  Come  in  by,  doctor ;  a'  heard  ye  on  the  road  ; 
ye  'ill  hae  been  at  Tammas  Mitchell's ;  hoo's  the 
gudewife  ?  a'  doot  she's  sober." 

"  Annie's  deein',  Drumsheugh,  an*  Tammas  is 
like  tae  brak  his  hert." 

"  That's  no  lichtsome,  doctor,  no  Hchtsome  ava, 
for  a'  dinna  ken  ony  man  in  Drumtochty  sae 
bund  up  in  his  wife  as  Tammas,  and  there's  no  a 
bonnier  wumman  o'  her  age  crosses  oor  kirk  door 
than  Annie,  nor  a  cleverer  at  her  wark.  Man,  ye 
'ill  need  tae  pit  yir  brains  in  steep.  Is  she  clean 
beyond  ye  ? " 

"  Beyond  me  and  every  ither  in  the  land  but 


Ii!l»i 


i: 
If 


256     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

ane,  and  it  wud  cost  a  hundred  guineas  tae  bring 
him  tae  Drumtochty." 

'•  Certcs,  he's  no  blate ;  it's  a  fell  chairge  for  a 
short  day's  work  ;  but  hundred  or  no  hundred  we 
'ill  hae  him,  an'  no  let  Annie  gang,  and  her  no 
half  her  years." 

"  Are  ye  meanin'  it,  Drumsheugh  ? "  and  Mac- 
Lure  turned  white  below  the  tan. 

**  William  MacLure,"  said  Druniiiheugh,  in 
one  of  the  few  confident  s  that  ever  broke  the 
Drumtochty  reserve,  "  a'm  a  lonely  man,  wi' 
naebody  o'  ma  ain  blude  tae  care  for  me  livin*,  or 
tae  lift  me  intae  ma  coffin  when  a'm  deid. 

"  A'  fecht  awa  at  Muirtown  market  for  an 
extra  pund  en  a  beast,  or  a  shillin'  on  the 
quarter  o*  barley,  an'  what's  the  gude  o't  ? 
Burnbrae  gaes  afif  tae  get  a  goon  for  his  wife  or  a 
buke  for  his  college  laddie,  an'  Lachlan  Campbell 
'ill  no  leave  the  place  noo  withoot  a  ribbon  for 
Flora. 

"  Ilka  man  in  the  Kiidrummie  train  has  some 
bit  fairin'  in  his  pooch  for  the  fouk  at  hame  that 
he's  bocht  wi'  the  siller  lie  won. 

"  But  there's  naebody  tae  be  lookin'  oot  for  me, 


;it 


«■ 


'Ig 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD  257 

an'  com  in'  dooii  the  road  tae  meet  mc,  and 
daffin'  (joking)  wi'  me  aboot  their  fairing,  or 
feeh'ng  ma  pockets.  Ou  ay,  aVe  seen  it  a'  at 
ither  hooses,  though  they  tried  tae  hide  it  frae 
me  for  fear  a'  wud  lauch  at  them.  Me  lauch,  wi' 
ma  cauld,  empty  hame! 

"  Yir  the  only  man  kens,  Weelum,  that  I  aince 
luved  the  noblest  vvumman  in  the  glcn  or  ony- 
where,  an'  a'  luve  her  still,  but  wi'  anither  luve 
noo. 

"  She  hed  given  her  heart  tae  anither,  or  aVe 
thocht  a'  micht  Jiae  won  her,  though  nae  man  be 
worthy  o'  sic  a  gift.  Ma  hert  turned  tae  bitter- 
ness, but  that  passed  awa  beside  the  brier  bush 
whar  George  Hoo  lay  yon  sad  simmer  time. 
Some  day  a'll  tell  ye  ma  story,  Weelum,  for  you 
an'  me  are  auld  freends,  and  will  be  till  we 
dee." 

MacLure  felt  beneath  the  table  for  Drum- 
sheugh's  hand,  but  neither  man  looked  at  the 
other. 

"Weel,  a*  we  can   dae   noo,  Weelum,  gin  we 

haena  mickle  brichtness  in  oor  ain  hames,  is  tae 

keep  the  licht  frae  gaein'  oot  in  anither  hoose 

R 


\l 


2S8     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

Write  the  telegram,  man,  and  Sanc.y  'ill  send  it 
aff  frae  Kildrummie  this  verra  nidit,  and  ye  'ill 
hae  yir  man  the  morn." 

"  Yir  the  man  a'  coonted  ye,  Drunisheugh,  but 
ye  'ill  grant  me  ae  favour.  Ye  'ill  lat  me  pay  the 
half,  bit  by  bit — a'  ken  yir  wullin'  tae  dae't  a', — 
but  a'  haena  mony  pleesures,  an'  a'  wud  like  tae 
hae  ma  ain  share  in  savin'  Annie's  life." 

Next  morning  a  figure  received  Sir  George  on 
the  Kildrummie  platform,  whom  that  famous 
surgeon  took  for  a  gillie,  but  who  introduced 
himself  as  "MacLure  of  Drumtochty."  It  seemed 
as  if  the  East  had  cot.o  to  meet  the  West  wh..n 
these  two  stood  together,  the  one  in  travelling 
furs,  handsome  and  distinguished,  with  his  strong, 
cultured  face  and  carriage  of  authority,  a  charac- 
teristic type  of  his  profession ;  and  the  other 
more  marvellously  dressed  than  ever,  for  Drum- 
sheugh's  topcoat  had  been  forced  upon  him  for 
the  occasion,  his  face  and  neck  one  redness  with 
the  bitter  cold ;  rough  and  ungainly,  yet  not 
without  some  signs  of  power  in  his  eye  and  voice, 
the  most  heroic  type  of  his  noble  profession. 
MacLure   compassed   the    precious  arrival   with 


ft- 


HI  ■; 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD 


•S9 


obsci-v.nnrcs  till  he  was  securely  seated  in  Druni- 
sheugh's  dogcart— a  vehicle  that  lent  itself  to 
history— with  two  full-sized  plaids  added  to 
his  equipment — Drumsheugh  and  Hillocks  had 
both  been  requisitioned — and  MacLure  wrapped 
another  plaid  round  a  leather  case,  which  was  placed 
below  the  seat  with  such  reverence  as  might  be 
given  to  the  Queen's  regalia.  Peter  attended 
their  departure  full  of  interest,  and  as  soon  as 
they  were  in  the  fir  woods  MacLurc  explained 
that  it  would  be  an  eventful  journey. 

"  It's  a'  richt  in  here,  for  the  wind  disna  get  at 
the  snaw,  but  the  drifts  are  deep  in  the  Glen,  and 
th'ill  be  some  engineerin'  afore  we  get  tae  oor 
destination." 

Four  times  they  left  the  road  and  took  their 
way  over  fields,  twice  they  forced  a  passage 
through  a  slap  in  a  dyke,  thrice  they  used  gaps  in 
the  paling  which  MacLure  had  made  on  his 
downward  journey. 

"  A'  seleckit  the  road  this  rnornin',  an'  a'  ken 
the  depth  tae  an  inch ;  we  'ill  get  through  this 
steadin'  here  tae  the  main  road,  but  oor  worst  job 
'ill  be  crossin'  the  Tochty. 


8' 


26o      A  DOC  TOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"Ye  see  the  bridi:^e  hes  been  shakin'  wi'  this 
winter's  floc^,  and  we  daurna  venture  on  it,  sae 
we  hev  tae  ford,  and  the  snaw's  been  melting  up 
Urtach  way.  There's  nae  doot  the  water's  gey 
big,  an'  its  threatcnin  'tae  rise,  but  we  'ill  win 
through  wi'  a  warstle. 

"  It  micht  be  safer  tae  lift  the  instruments  oot 
o'  reach  o'  the  water ;  wud  ye  mind  haddin' 
them  on  yir  knee  till  we're  ower,  an'  keep  firm  in 
yir  seat  in  case  we  come  on  a  stane  in  the  bed  o' 
the  river." 

By  this  time  they  had  come  to  the  edge,  and  it 
was  not  a  cheering  sight.  The  Tochty  had 
spread  out  over  the  meadows,  and  while  they 
waited  they  could  see  it  cover  another  two  inches 
on  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  There  are  summer 
floods,  when  the  water  is  brown  and  flecked  with 
foam,  but  this  was  a  winter  flood,  which  is  black 
and  sullen,  and  runs  in  the  centre  v.ith  a  strong, 
fierce,  silent  current.  Upon  the  opposite  side 
Hillocks  stood  to  give  directions  by  word  and 
hand,  as  the  ford  was  on  his  land,  and  none  knew 
the  Tochty  better  in  all  its  ways, 

They  passeu  through  the  shallow  water  without 


I 


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' yr\^t' f^?vT!  V '   r'^T*" ""^ T-''W^"rj*'g.-  w"!i'.^ijnyBj-- 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD 


261 


mishap,  save  when  the  wheel  struck  a  hidden 
stone  or  fell  suddenly  into  a  rut ;  but  when  they 
ncared  the  body  of  the  river  Mac  Lure  halted,  to 
give  Jess  a  minute's  breathing. 

"  It  'ill  tak  ye  a'  yir  time,  lass,  an'  a'  wud  raither 
be  on  yir  back  ;  but  ye  never  failed  me  yet,  and 
a  wumman's  life  is  hangin*  on  the  '  *     sin'." 

With  the  first  plunge  into  the  b«_u  of  the  stream 
the  water  rose  to  the  axles,  and  then  it  crept  up 
to  the  shafts,  so  that  the  surgeon  could  feel  it 
lapping  in  about  his  feet,  while  the  dogcart  began 
to  quiver,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  to  be  carried 
away.  Sir  George  was  as  brave  as  most  men,  but 
he  had  never  forded  a  Highland  river  in  flood, 
and  the  mass  of  black  water  racing  past  beneath, 
before,  behind  him,  affected  his  imagination  and 
shook  his  nerves.  He  rose  from  his  scat  and 
ordered  MacLure  to  turn  back,  declaring  that  he 
would  be  condemned  utterly  and  eternally  if  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  drowned  for  any  person. 

"  Sit  doon,"  thundered  MacLure  ;  "  condemned 
ye  will  be  suner  or  later  gin  ye  shirk  yir  duty,  but 
through  the  water  ye  gang  the  day." 

Both    men    spoke    much   more   strongly    and 


:i    ' 


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262     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

shortly,  but  this  is  what  tliey  intended  to  say,  and 
it  was  xMacLure  that  prevailed. 

Jess  trailed  her  feet  along  the  ground  with 
cunning  art.  and  held  her  shoulder  against  the 
stream ;  MacLure  leant  forward  in  his  seat,  a  rein 
in  each  hand,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  Hillocks,  who 
was  row  standing  up  to  tne  waist  in  the  water, 
shouting  directions  and  cheering  on  horse  and 
driver. 

"Haud  tae  the  richt.  doctor;  there's  a  hole 
yonder.  Keep  oot  o't  for  ony  sake.  That's  it ; 
yir  daein'  fine.  Steady,  man,  steady.  Yir  at  the 
deepest ;  sit  heavy  in  yir  seats.  Up  the  channel 
noo,  an'  ye  'ill  b.  oot  o'  the  swirl.  Weel  dune, 
Jess,  weel  dune,  auld  mare!  Mak  straicht  for  me! 
doctor,  an'  a'll  gie  ye  the  road  oot.  Ma  word! 
ye've  dune  yir  best,  ba^th  o'  ye  this  mornin',"  cried 
Hillocks,  splashing  up  to  the  dogcart,  now  in  the 

shallows. 

"Sail,  it  wes  titch  an'  go  for  a  meenut  in  the 
middle;  a  Hielan'  ford  is  a  kittle  (hazardous) 
road  in  the  snaw  time,  but  ye're  safe  noo. 

^'Gude  luck  tae  yc  up  at  Westerton,  sir;  nane 
but  a  richt-hearted  man  wud  hae  riskit  the  Tochty 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD  263 

in  flood.  Ye're  boond  tae  succeed  aiTter  sic  a 
graund  beginnin',"  for  it  had  spread  already  that 
a  famous  surgeon  had  come  to  do  his  best  for 
Annie,  Tammas  Mitchell's  wife. 

Two  hours  later  MacLure  came  out  from 
Annie's  room  and  laid  hold  of  Tammas,  a  heap 
of  speechless  misery  by  the  kitchen  fire,  and 
carried  him  off  to  the  barn,  and  spread  some  corn 
en  the  threshing  floor  and  thrust  a  flail  into  his 
hands. 

"  Noo  we've  tae  begin,  an'  we  'ill  no  be  dune 
for  an'  oor,  and  ye've  tae  lay  en  v/ithoot  stoppin' 
till  a'  come  for  ye,  an'  a'll  shut  the  door  tae  haud 
in  the  noise,  an'  keep  yir  dog  beside  ye,  for  there 
maunna  be  a  cheep  aboot  the  hoose  for  Annie's 
sake." 

"  A'll  dae  onything  ye  want  me,  but  if^f " 

"A'll  come  for  ye,  Tammas,  gin  there  be 
danger  ;  but  what  are  ye  feared  for  wi'  the  Queen's 
ani  surgeon  here  ?  " 

Fifty  minutes  did  the  flail  rise  and  fall,  save 
twice,  when  Tammas  crept  to  the  door  and 
listened,  the  dog  lifting  his  head  and  whining. 

It  seemed  twelve  hours  instead  of  one  when  the 


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264      A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

door  swung  back,  and  MacLurc  filled  the  doorway, 
preceded  by  a  great  burst  of  light,  for  the  sun 
had  arisen  on  the  snow. 

His  face  was  as  tidings  of  great  joy,  and  Elspcth 
told  me  that  there  was  nothing  like  it  to  be  seen 
that  afternoon  for  glory,  save  the  sun  itself  in 
the  heavens. 

"  A'  never  saw  the  marrow  o't,  Tammas,  an'  a'll 
never  see  the  like  again  ;  it's  a'  ower,  man,  withoot 
a  hitch  frae  beginnin'  tae  end,  and  she's  fa'in' 
asleep  as  fine  as  ye  like." 

"Dis  he  think  Annie  .  .  .  'ill  live.?" 

"Of  coorse  he  dis,  and  be  aboot  the  hoose 
inside  a  month ;  that's  the  gude  o'  bein*  a  clean- 
bluided,  weel-livin' " 

"  Preserve  ye,  man,  what's  wrang  wi*  ye  ?  it's  a 
mercy  a'  keppit  ye,  or  we  wud  hev  hed  anither  job 
for  Sir  George. 

"  Ye're  a'  richt  noo  ;  sit  doon  on  the  strae.  A'll 
come  back  in  a  whilie,  an'  ye  'ill  see  Annie  juist 
for  a  meenut,  but  ye  maunna  say  a  word." 

Marget  took  him  in  and  let  him  kneel  by 
Annie's  bedside. 

He  said  nothing  then  or  afterwards,  for  speech 


3 


•t" 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD 


265 


came  only  once  in  his  lifetime  to  Tammas,  but 
Annie  whispered,  "  Ma  ain  dear  man." 

When  the  doctor  placed  the  precious  bag  beside 
Sir  George  in  our  solitary  first  next  morning, 
he  laid  a  cheque  beside  it  and  was  about  to 
leave. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  great  man.  "  Mrs.  Macfadyen 
and  I  were  on  the  gossip  last  night,  and  I  know 
the  whole  story  about  you  and  your  friend. 

"You  have  some  right  to  call  me  a  coward,  but 
I'll  never  let  you  count  me  a  mean,  miserly  rascal," 
and  the  cheque  with  Drumsheugh's  painful  writing 
fell  in  fifty  pieces  on  the  floor. 

As  the  train  began  to  move,  a  voice  from  the 
first  called  so  that  all  in  the  station  heard. 

"  Give's  another  shake  of  your  hand,  MacLurc  ; 
I'm  proud  to  have  met  you  ;  you  are  an  honour 
to  our  profession.     Mind  the  antiseptic  dressings." 

It  was  market  day,  but  only  Jamie  Soutar  and 
Hillocks  had  ventured  down. 

"  Did  ye  hear  yon,  Hillocks  ?  hoo  dae  ye  feel } 
A'U  no  deny  a'm  lifted." 

Halfway  to  the  Junction  Hillocks  had  recovered, 
and  began  to  grasp  the  situation. 


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266     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"Tell's  what  he  said.  A'  wud  like  to  hae  it 
exact  for  Drumsheugh." 

"Thae's  the  eedentical  words,  an'  they're  true  ; 
there's  no  a  man  in  Drumtochty  disna  ken  that, 
except  ane." 

"An' wha's  that,  Jamie?" 

"It's  Weelum  MacLure  himsel  Man,  a've 
often  girned  that  he  sud  fecht  awa  for  us  a,  and 
maybe  dee  Lefore  he  kent  that  ha  hed  githered 
mair  luve  than  ony  man  in  the  Glen. 

" '  A'm  prood  tae  hae  met  ye,'  says  Sir  George, 
an'  him  the  greatest  doctor  in  the  land.  *  Yir  an 
honour  tae  oor  profession.' 

"Hillocks,  a'  wudna  hae  missed  it  for  twenty 
notes,"  said  James  Soutar,  cynic-in-ordinary  to 
the  parish  of  Drumtochty. 


s    i 


Ill 

A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH 

When  Drumsheugh's  grieve  was  brought  to  the 
gates  of  death  by  fever,  caught,  as  was  supposed, 
on  an  adventurous  visit  to  Glasgow,  the  London 
doctor  at  Lord  Kilspindie's  shooting  lodge  looked 
in  on  his  way  from  the  moor,  and  d(  glared  it 
impossible  for  Saunders  to  live  through  the 
night. 

"  I  give  him  six  Immk,  n  or  less  ;  It  is  only 
a  question  of  time,"  sau  the  oracle,  buttoning  his 
gloves  and  getting  into  the  brake;  '•tell  your 
parish  doctor  that  I  was  attrry  not  to  have  met 
him." 

Bell  heard  this  verd'-f  from  behind  the  door, 
and  gave  way  utterly,  but  Drumsheugh  declined 
to  accept  it  as  final,  and  ckvoted  himself  to 
consolation. 

"  Dinna  greet  like  that,  Bell  wumman,  sae  lang 


t     19 

I. 


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a68     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 


I     '! 


as  Saunders  is  still  livin' ;  a'll  never  give  up 
houp,  for  ma  pairt,  till  oor  ain  man  says  the 
word. 

'*  A'  the  doctors  in  the  land  dinna  ken  as 
muckle  aboot  us  as  Wcelum  MacLurc,  an*  he's 
ill  tae  beat  when  he's  tryin'  tae  save  a  man's 
life." 

Mac  Lure,  on  his  coming,  would  say  nothing, 
either  weal  or  woe,  till  he  had  examined  Saunders. 
Suddenly  his  face  turned  into  iron  before  their 
eyes,  and  he  looked  like  one  encountering  a 
merciless  foe.  For  there  was  a  feud  between 
Mac  Lure  and  a  certain  mighty  power  which  had 
lasted  for  forty  years  in  Drumtochty. 

"  The  London  doctor  said  that  Saunders  wud 
sough  awa  afore  mv)rnin',  did  he  ?  Weel,  he's  an 
authority  on  fevers  an'  sic  like  diseases,  an'  ought 
tae  ken. 

"  It's  maybe  presumptour.  o'  me  tae  differ  frae 
him,  and  it  wudna  be  verra  respectfu'  o'  Spunders 
tae  live  aifter  this  opeenion.  But  Saunders  wes 
aye  thraun  an'  ill  tae  drive,  an'  he's  as  like  as  no 
tae  gang  ^  i ,  ain  gait. 

*'A'm  no  meanin'  tae  njflect  on  sae  clever  a 


m^ 


A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH 


269 


man,  but  he  di'dna  ken  the  seetuation.  He  can 
read  fevers  like  a  buik,  but  he  never  cam  across  sic 
a  thing  as  the  Drumtochty  constitution  a'  his  days. 
*'  Ye  see,  when  onybody  gets  as  low  as  puir 
Saunders  here,  it's  juist  a  hand  to  hand  wrastle 
atwccn  the  fever  and  his  constitution,  an'  of 
coorse,  if  he  hcd  been  a  shilpit,  stuntit,  feckless 
efkcgy  o'  a  cratur,  fed  on  tea  an'  made  dishes  and 
pushioned  wi'  bad  air,  Saunders  wud  hae  nae 
chance ;  he  wes  boond  tae  gae  oot  like  the  snuff 
o'  a  candle. 

"But  Saunders  hes  been  fillin'  his  lungs  for 
five  and  thirty  year  wi"  strong  Drumtochty  air, 
an'  catin'  naethin'  but  kirny  aitmeal,  and  drinkin' 
naetnin'  but  fresh  milk  frae  the  coo,  an'  followin' 
the  ploo  through  the  new-turned,  sweet-s.iiellin' 
earth,  an'  swingin'  the  scythe  in  haytlme  and 
harvest,  till  the  legs  an'  airms  o'  him  were  Iron, 
an'  his  chest  wes  like  the  cuttin'  o'  an  oak  tree. 

"  He's  a  waesome  sicht  the  nicht,  but  Saunders 
wes  a  buirdly  man  aince,  and  wull  never  lat  his 
life  be  taken  lichtly  frae  him.  Na,  na,  he  hesna 
sinned  against  Nature,  and  Nature  'ill  stand  by 
him  noo  in  his  oor  o'  distress. 


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270     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"A'  daurna  say  yea,  Jkll,  ni\icklc  as  a'  uud 
like,  for  this  is  an  evil  disease,  cunnin'  an' 
treacherous  as  the  deevil  himsel',  but  a'  vvinna 
say  nay,  sac  keep  yir  hert  frac  despair. 

"It  wuii  be  a  sair  fecht,  but  it  'ill  be  settled 
one  wy  or  an  it  her  by  sax  o'clock  the  morn's 
morn.  Nae  man  can  prophccce  hoo  it  'ill  end, 
but  ae  thing  is  certain,  a'll  no  see  deith  tak  a 
Drumtochty  man  afore  his  time  if  a'  can  help  it. 

"Noo,  Bell  ma  wumman,  yir  near  deid  wi'  tire, 
an'  nae  wonder.  Ye've  dune  a'  ye  cud  for  yir 
man,  an'  ye  'ill  lippen  (trust)  him  the  nicht  tae 
Drumsheugh  an'  me;  we  'ill  no  fail  him  or 
you. 

"  Lie  doon  an'  rest,  an'  if  it  be  the  wull  o'  the 
Ahnichty  a'll  wauken  ye  in  the  mornin'  tae  see  a 
livin'  conscious  man,  an'  if  it  be  itherwise  a'll 
come  for  ye  the  suner.  Bell,"  and  the  big  red 
hand  went  out  to  the  anxious  wife  "A'gieye 
ma  word." 

Bell  leant  over  the  bed,  and  at  the  sight  of 
Saunders'  face  a  superstitious  dread  seized  her. 

"  See,  doctor,  the  shadow  of  deith  is  on  him 
that  never  lifts.     A've  seen  it  afore,  on  ma  fathei 


A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH 


271 


ail'  niither.     A'  canna  leave  him,  a'  canna  leave 
him." 

"  It's  hoveriii",  Bell,  but  it  hesna  fallen  ;  please 
God  it  never  wull.  Gang  but  and  get  some  sleep, 
for  it's  time  we  were  at  oor  work. 

"The  doctors  in  the  toons  hae  nurses  an'  a' 
kinds  o'  handy  apparatus,"  said  MacLure  to 
Drumsheugh  when  Bell  had  gone,  "  but  you 
an'  me  'ill  need  tae  be  nurse  the  nicht,  an'  use 
sic  things  as  we  hev. 

"  It  'ill  be  a  lang  nicht  and  anxious  wark,  but 
a'  wud  raither  hae  ye,  auld  freend,  wi'  me  than  ony 
man  in  the  Glen.    Ye're  no  feared  tae  gie  a  hand  ?" 

"  Me  feared  ?  No  likely.  Man,  Saunders  cam 
tae  me  a  haflin,  and  hes  been  on  Drumsheugh  for 
twenty  years,  an'  though  he  be  a  dour  chiel,  he's 
a  faithfu'  servant  as  ever  lived.  It's  waesome  tae 
see  him  lyin'  there  moaning  like  some  dumb 
animal  frae  mornin'  tae  nicht,  an*  no  able  tae 
answer  his  ain  wife  when  she  speaks. 

"  Div  ye  think,  Weelum,  he  hes  a  chance  ? " 

"  That  he  hes,  at  ony  rate,  and  it  'ill  no  be  yout 
Dlame  or  mine  if  he  hesna  mair." 

While  he  was  speaking,  MacLure  took  off  his 


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272     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

coat  and  waistcoat  and  hung  them  on  the  back  of 
the  door.  Then  he  rolled  up  the  sleeves  of  his 
shirt  and  laid  bare  two  arms  that  were  nothing 
but  bone  and  muscle. 

"  It  gar'd  ma  very  blood  rin  faster  tae  the  end 
of  ma  fingers  juist  tae  look  at  him,"  Drumsheugh 
expatiated  afterwards  to  Hillocks,  "for  a'  saw 
noo  that  there  was  tae  be  a  stand-up  fecht 
atween  him  an'  deith  for  Saunders,  and  when  a' 
thocht  o*  Bell  an'  her  bairns,  a'  kent  wha  wud 
win. 

"Aff  wi'  yir  coat,  Drumsheugh,"  said  MacLure; 
"ye  'ill  need  tae  bend  yir  back  the  nicht;  gither 
a'  the  pails  in  the  hoose  and  fill  them  at  the 
spring,  an'  a'll  come  dcon  tae  help  ye  wi'  the 
carryin'." 

It  was  a  wonderful,  ascent  up  the  steep 
pathway  from  the  spring  to  the  cottage  on  its 
little  knoll,  the  two  men  in  single  file,  bareheaded, 
silent,  solemn,  each  with  a  pail  of  water  in  either 
hand,  MacLure  limping  painfully  in  front,  Drum- 
sheugh blowing  behind,  and  when  they  laid 
down  their  burden  in  the  sick  room,  where  the 
bits  of  furniture  had  been  put  to  a  side  and  a 


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A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH 


27.5 


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large  tub  held   the  centre,   Drumshcugh   looked 
curiously  at  the  doctor. 

"  No,  a'm  no  daft ;  ye  needna  be  feared  ;  but 
ye're  tae  get  yir  first  lesson  in  medicine  the  nicht, 
an'  if  we  win  the  battle  ye  can  set  up  for  yersel 
in  the  Glen. 

"There's  twa  dangers— that  Saunders'  strength 
fails,  an'  that  the  force  o'  the  fever  grows ;  and 
we  have  juist  twa  weapons. 

"  Yon  milk  on  the  drawers  head  an*  the  bottle 
of  whisky  is  tae  keep  up  the  strength,  and  this 
cool  caller  water  is  tae  keep  doon  the  fever. 

'•  We  'ill  cast  oot  the  fever  by  the  virtue  o'  the 
earth  an'  the  water." 

"  Div  ye  mean  tae  pit  Saunders  in  the  tub  > " 

"  Ye  hiv  it  noo,  Drumsheugh,  and  that's  hoo  a' 
need  yir  help." 

"Man, Hillocks,"  Drumsheugh  used  to  moralise, 
as  often  as  he  remembered  that  critical  night, 
"it  wes  humblin'  tae  see  hoo  low  sickness  can 
bring  a  pooerfu'  man,  an'  ocht  tae  keep  us  frae 
pride. 

"  A  month  syne  there  wesna  a  stronger  man  in 
the  Glen  than  Saunders,  an'  noo  he  was  juist  a 


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274     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 


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bundle  o'  skin  and  bone,  that  naither  saw  nor 
lieard,  nor  moved  nor  felt,  that  kent  naetliin' 
that  was  dune  tae  him. 

"  Hillocks,  a'  wudna  hae  wished  ony  man  tae 
liev seen  Saunders — for  it  wull  never  pass  frae  before 
ma  een  as  long  as  a'  live — but  a'  wish  a'  the  Glen 
hed  stude  by  MacLure  kneelin'  on  the  floor  wi' 
his  sleeves  up  tae  his  oxters  and  waitin'  on 
Saunders. 

"  Von  big  man  wes  as  pitifu'  an'  gentle  as  a 
wumman,  and  when  he  laid  the  puir  fallow  in  his 
bed  again,  he  happit  him  ower  as  a  mither  dis 
her  bairn." 

Thrice  it  was  done,  Drumsheugh  ever  bringing 
up  colder  water  from  the  spring,  and  twice 
MacLure  was  silent ;  but  after  the  third  time  there 
was  a  gleam  in  his  eye. 

"  We're  haudin'  oor  ain  ;  we're  no  bein'  mais- 
tf.red,  at  ony  rate  ;  mair  a'  canna  say  for  three 
r)ors. 

"  We  'ill  no  need  the  water  again,  Drumsheugh ; 
gae  cot  and  tak  a  breath  o'  air ;  a'm  on  gaird 
masel." 

It  was  the  hour  before  daybreak,  and  Drum- 


:      i 


A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH 


275 


slieugh  wandered  through  fields  he  had  trodden 
since  childhood.  The  cattle  lay  sleeping  in  the 
pastures  :  their  shadowy  forms,  with  a  patch  of 
whiteness  here  and  there,  having  a  weird  sug- 
gestion of  death.  He  heard  the  burn  running 
over  the  stones  ;  fifty  years  ago  he  had  made  a 
dam  that  lasted  till  winter.  The  hooting  of  an 
owl  made  him  start ;  one  had  frightened  him  as  a 
boy  so  that  he  ran  home  to  his  mother— she  died 
thirty  years  ago.  The  smell  of  ripe  corn  filled 
the  air  ;  it  would  soon  be  cut  and  garnered.  He 
could  see  the  dim  outlines  of  his  house,  all  dark 
and  cold  ;  no  one  he  loved  was  beneath  the  roof. 
The  lighted  window  in  Saunders'  cottage  told 
where  a  man  hung  between  life  and  death,  but 
love  was  in  that  home.  The  futility  of  life  arose 
before  this  lonely  man,  and  overcame  his  heart 
with  an  indescribable  sadness.  What  a  vanity 
was  all  human  labour,  what  a  mystery  all  human 
life! 

But  while  he  stood,  a  subtle  change  came  over 
the  night,  and  the  air  trembled  round  him  as  if 
one  had  whispered.  Drumslicugh  lifted  his  head 
and  looked  eastwards.     A  faint  grey  stole  over 


■S-i!    a«h><«Srt  #,    J. 


(M^ 


«!., 


('',1 


! 


1  I! 


276  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

tlic  distant  horizon,  and  suddenly  a  cloud  reddened 
before  his  eyes.  The  sun  was  not  in  sight,  but 
was  rising,  and  sending  forerunners  before  his 
face.  The  cattle  began  to  stir,  a  blackbird  burst 
into  song,  and  before  Drumsheugh  crossed  the 
threshold  of  Saunders'  house,  the  first  ray  of  the 
sun  had  broken  on  a  peak  of  the  Grampians. 

MacLure  left  the  bedside,  and  as  the  light  of 
the  candle  fell  on  the  doctor's  fiice,  Drumsheugh 
could  see  that  it  was  going  well  with  Saunders. 

"  He's  nae  waur  ;  an'  it's  half  six  noo  ;  it's  ower 
sune  tae  say  mair,  but  a'm  houpin'  for  the  best. 
Sit  doon  and  take  a  sleep,  for  ye're  needin'  't, 
Drumsheugh,  an'  man,  ye  hae  worked  for  it." 

As  he  dozed  off,  the  last  thing  Drumsheugh 
saw  was  the  doctor  sitting  erect  in  his  chair, 
a  clenched  fist  resting  on  the  bed,  and  his  eyes 
already  bright  with  the  vision  of  victory. 

He  awoke  with  a  start  to  find  the  room  flooded 
with  the  morning  sunshine,  and  every  trace  of 
last  night's  work  removed. 

The  doctor  was  bending  over  the  bed,  and 
speaking  to  Saunders. 

"  It's  me,  Saunders,  Doctor  MacLure,  ye  ken  ; 


A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH 


«77 


dinna  try  tae  speak  or  move ;  juist  let  this  drap 
milk  slip  ower — ye  'ill  be  needin'  yir  breakfast, 
lad — and  gang  tae  sleep  again." 

Five  minutes,  and  Saunders  had  fallen  into  a 
deep,  healthy  sleep,  all  tossing  and  moaning  come 
to  an  end.  Then  MacLure  stepped  softly  across 
the  floor,  picked  up  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and 
went  out  at  the  door. 

Drumsheugh  arose  and  followed  him  without 
a  word.  They  passed  through  the  little  garden, 
sparkling  with  dew,  and  beside  the  byre,  where 
Hawkie  rattled  her  chain,  impatient  for  Bell's 
coming,  and  by  Saunders'  little  strip  of  corn 
ready  for  the  scythe,  till  f\dy  reached  an  open 
field.  There  they  came  to  a  halt,  and  Doctor 
MacLure  for  once  allowed  himself  to  go. 

His  coat  he  flung  east  and  his  waistcoat  west, 
as  far  as  he  could  hurl  them,  and  it  was  plain  he 
would  have  shouted  had  he  been  a  complete  mile 
from  Saunders'  room.  Any  less  distance  was 
useless  for  adequate  expression.  He  struck 
Drumsheugh  a  mighty  blow  that  well-nigh 
levelled  that  substantial  man  in  the  dust,  and 
then  the  doctor  of  Drumtochty  issued  his  bulletin. 


l< 


-:-^:\l»ii(«<«.«*' *.•>,.* 


278     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"Saunders  wesna  tae  live  through  the  nicht 
but  he's  livin'  this  meenut,  an'  like  to  live. 

"He's  got  by  the  warst  clean  and  fair,  and 
wi'  him  that's  as  good  as  cure. 

"  It  'ill  be  a  graund  waukenin'  for  Bell ;  she  'ill 
no  be  a  weedow  yet,  nor  the  bairn ies  fatherless. 

"There's  nae  use  glovverin'  at  me,  Drumshcugh, 
for  a  body's  daft  at  a  time,  an'  a'  canna  contain 
masel,  and  a'm  no  gacin'  tae  try." 

Then  it  dawned  upon  Drumsheugh  that  the 
doctor  was  attempting  the  Highland  fling. 

"He's  ill  made  tae  begin  wi',"  Drumshcugh 
explained  in  the  kirkyard  next  Sabbath,  "  and  ye 
ken  he's  been  terrible  mishannelled  by  accidents, 
sae  ye  may  think  what  like  it  was,  but,  as  sure  as 
deith,  o'  a'  the  Hielan'  flings  a'  ever  saw  yon  wes 
the  bonniest. 

"  A'  hevna  shaken  ma  ain  legs  for  thirty  years, 
but  a'  confess  tae  a  turn  masel.  Ye  may  lauch 
an'  ye  like,  neeburs,  but  the  thocht  o'  Bell  an' 
the  news  that  wes  waitin'  her  got  the  better  o' 
me." 

Drumtochty  did  not  laugh.  Drumtochty  looked 
as  if  it  could  have  done  quite  otherwise  for  joy. 


) '- 


A  FTGHT  WITH  DEATH 


279 


"A'  wild  hae  made  a  third  gin  a'  hed  been 
there,"  announced  Hillocks,  aggressively. 

"Come  on,  Drumsheugh,"  said  Jamie  Soutar, 
"gic's  the  end  o't ;  it  vves  a  michty  morning." 

" '  We're  twa  auld  fules,'  says  MacLure  tae  me, 
and  he  gaithers  up  his  ciaitiies.  'It  wud  set  us 
better  tae  be  telling  Bell.' 

"She  wes  sleepin'  on  the  top  o'  her  bed 
wrapped  in  a  piaid,  fair  worn  oot  wi'  three 
weeks'  nursin'  o'  Saunders,  but  at  the  first  touch 
she  was  oot  upon  the  floor. 

" '  Is  Saunders  deein',  doctor  ? '  she  cries.  '  Ye 
promised  tae  waukcn  me;  dinna  tell  me  it's  a' 
ower.' 

" '  There's  nae  deein'  aboot  him,  Bel! ;  ye're  nc 
tae  lose  yir  man  this  time,  sae  far  as  a'  can  see. 
Come  ben  an'  jidge  for  yersel.' 

"  Bell  lookit  at  Saunders,  and  the  tears  of  joy 
fell  on  the  bed  like  rain. 

'"The  shadow's  lifted,'  she  said;  'he's  come 
back  frae  the  mooth  o'  the  tomb. 

" '  A'  prayed  last  nicht  that  the  Lord  wud  leave 
Saunders  till  the  laddies  cud  dae  for  themselves, 
an'  thae  words  came  intae  ma  mind,  "Weeping 


'Jf 


i\] 


L 


' "SS^-  ■  ■  iif-'t)Pl--i'4-:  ■  ■  J,!*  .- 


I 


.\. 


f-:: 


^  is 


280    A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

may  endure  for  a  nitht,  but  joy  cometh  in  the 
mornin'." 

"  •  The  Lord  heard  ma  prayer,  and  joy  hes 
come  in  the  mornin'/  an'  she  gripped  the  doctor's 
hand. 

"  '  Ye've  been  the  instrument,  Doctor  MacLurc. 
Ye  wudna  gie  him  up,  and  ye  did  what  nae  ithcr 
cud  for  him,  an'  a've  ma  man  the  day,  and  the 
bairns  hae  their  father.' 

"  An'  afore  MacLure  kent  what  she  was  daein', 
Bell  Hfted  his  hand  to  her  hps  an'  kissed  it." 

"Did  she,  though.?"  cried  Jamie..  "  Wha  wud 
hae  thocht  there  wes  as  mucklc  spunk  in  Bell  ?" 

"  MacLure,  of  coorse,  was  clean  scandalized," 
continued  Drumsheugh,  "an'  pooed  awa  his  hand 
as  if  it  hed  been  burned. 

"Nae  man  can  thole  that  kind  o'  fraikin',  and 
a'  never  heard  o'  sic  a  thing  in  the  parish,  but  we 
maun  excuse  Bell,  neeburs ;  it  wes  an  occasion 
by  ordinar,"  and  Drumsheugh  made  Bell's  apology 
to  Drumtochty  for  such  an  excess  of  feeling. 

"  A'  see  naething  tae  excuse,"  insisted  Jamie, 
who  was  in  great  fettle  that  Sabbath ;  "  the 
doctor  hes  never  been  burdened  wi'  fees,  and  a'm 


A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH 


a8( 


judgin'  he  coonted  a  wumman's  gratitude  that  he 
saved  frae  weedowhood  the  best  he  ever  got." 

"A'  gaed  up  tae  the  Manse  last  nicht,"  conckided 
Drumsheugh,  "and  telt  the  minister  hoo  the 
doctor  focht  aucht  oors  for  Saunders'  life,  an'  won, 
and  ye  never  saw  a  man  sae  carried.  He  wall<it 
up  and  doon  the  room  a*  the  time,  and  every 
other  mecnut  he  blew  his  nose  like  a  trumpet. 

"  *  I've  a  cold  in  my  head  to-night,  Drumsheugh,' 
says  he ;  '  never  mind  me.* " 

"  A've  hed  the  same  masel  in  sic  circumstances ; 
they  come  on  sudden,"  said  Jamie. 

"A'  wager  there  'ill  be  a  new  bit  in  the  laist 
prayer  the  day,  an'  somethin'  worth  hearin'." 

And  the  fathers  went  into  kirk  in  great 
expectation. 

"  We  beseech  Thee  for  such  as  be  sick,  that 
Thy  hand  may  be  on  them  for  good,  and  that 
Thou  wouldst  restore  them  again  to  health  and 
strength,"  was  the  familiar  petition  of  every 
Sabbath. 

The  congregation  waited  in  a  silence  that 
might  be  heard,  and  were  not  disappointed  that 
morning,  for  the  minister  continued ; 


I. 


I 


•  r*  i 


■Jte-<?'«*iW-|i-  -Ji^jjt 


282  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 


fuV 


m 


iH ; 


I:',| 


•        I 


s5 

m 


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■I 


"  Especially  we  tender  Thee  hearty  thanks  that 
Thou  didst  spare  Thy  servant  who  was  brought 
down  into  the  dust  of  death,  and  hast  given  him 
back  to  his  wife  and  children,  and  unto  that  end 
didst  wonderfully  bless  the  skill  of  him  who  goes 
out  and  in  amongst  us,  the  beloved  physician  of 
this  parish  and  adjacent  districts." 

"Didna  a*  tell  ye,  nccburs?"  said  Jamie,  as 
they  stood  at  the  kirkyard  gate  before  dispersing  ; 
"  there's  no  a  man  in  the  coonty  cud  hae  dune  it 
better.  'Beloved  physician,'  an'  his  'skill,'  tie, 
an'  bringing  in  'adjacent  districts';  that's  Glen 
Urtach  ;  it  wes  handsome,  and  the  doctor  earned 
it,  ay,  every  woid. 

"  It's  an  awfu'  peety  he  didna  hear  yon  ;  but 
dv^ar  knows  whar  he  is  the  day,  maist  likely 
up " 

Jamie  stopped  suddenly  at  the  sound  of  a 
horse's  feet,  and  there,  coming  down  the  avenue 
of  beech  trees  that  made  a  long  vista  from  the 
kirk  gate,  they  saw  the  doctor  and  Jess. 

One  thought  flashed  through  the  minds  of  the 
fathers  of  the  commonwealth. 

It  ought  to  be  done  as  he  passed,  and  it  would 


!  i'^'i' 


A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH  fgj 

be  done  if  it  were  not  Sabbath.     Of  course  it  was 
out  of  the  question  on  Sabbath. 

The  doctor  is  now  distinctly  visible,  riding 
after  his  fashion. 

There  was  never  such  a  chance,  if  it  were  only 
Saturday ;  and  each  man  reads  his  own  regret  in 
his  neighbour's  face. 

The  doctor  is  nearing  them  rapidly ;  they  can 
imagine  the  shepherd's  tartan. 

Sabbath  or  no  Sabbath,  the  Glen  cannot  let 
him  pass  without  some  tribute  of  their  pride. 

Jess  has  recognised  friends,  and  the  doctor  is 
drawing  rciii, 

"It  hes  tae  be  dune,"  said  Jamie,  desperately, 
"say  what  ye  like."  Then  they  all  looked 
towards  him,  and  Jamie  led. 

"  Hurrah,"  swinging  his  Sabbath  hat  in  the  air, 
•hurrah,"  and  once  more,  "liurrah,"  Whinnie 
Kiiowc,  Drumsheugh,  and  Hillocks  joining  lustily, 
but  Tammas  Mitchell  carrying  all  before  him,  for 
he  had  found  at  last  an  expression  for  his  feelings 
that  rendered  speech  unnecessary. 

It  was  a  solitary  experience  for  horse  and  rider, 
and  Jess  bolted  without  delay.     But  the  sound 


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284    A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

follow^id  and  surrounded  them,  and  as  they  passed 
the  corner  of  the  kirkyard,  a  figure  waved  his 
college  cap  over  the  wall  and  gave  a  cheer  on  his 
own  account. 

"  God  bless  you,  doctor,  and  well  done." 

"If  it  isna  the  minister,"  cried  Drumsheugh, 
"in  his  goon  an'  bans';  tae  think  o'  rhat;  but  a' 
respeck  him  for  it." 

Then  Drumtochty  became  self-conscious,  and 
went  home  in  confusion  of  face  and  unbroken 
silence,  except  Jamie  Soutar,  who  faced  his 
neighbours  at  the  parting  of  the  ways  without 
shame. 

"A'  wud  dae  it  a'  ower  again  if  a'  hed  the 
chance  ;  he  got  naethin'  but  his  due." 

"  It  was  two  miles  before  Jess  composed  her 
mind,  and  the  doctor  and  she  could  discuss  it 
quietly  together. 

"A*  can  hardly  believe  ma  ears,  Jess,  an'  the 
Sabbath  tae;  their  verra  jidgment  hes  gane  frae 
the  fouk  o*  Drumtochty. 

"  They've  heard  about  Saunders,  a'm  thinkin', 
wumman,  and  they're  pleased  we  brocht  him 
round  ;  he's  fairly  on  the  mend,  ye  ken,  i:00. 


mmmmm 


A  PiGHT  WITH  DEATH 


28s 


•'A'  never  expcckit  the  like  o'  this,  thougli,  and 
it  wes  juist  a  wee  thingie  mair  tlian  a'  cud  hae  stude. 

"Y-  hev  yir  share  in't  tae,  lass;  we've  hed 
mony  a  hard  nicht  and  day  thegither,  an'  yon 
wes  cor  reward.  No  mony  men  in  this  warld  'ill 
ever  get  a  better,  for  it  cam  frae  the  hert  o' 
honest  fouk." 


(I. 


-M  .ftf-'tfryf    '  ».«., 


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IV 

THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY 

Drumtochty  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  the 
winter  when  Dr.  MacLure  was  laid  up  for  two 
months  with  a  broken  leg,  and  the  Glen  was 
dependent  on  the  dubious  ministrations  of  the 
Kildrummie  doctor.  Mrs.  Macfadyen  also  pre- 
tended to  recall  a  ''  whup  "  of  some  kind  or  other 
he  had  in  the  fifties,  but  this  was  considered  to  be 
rather  a  pyrotechnic  display  of  Elspeth's  superior 
memory  than  a  serious  statement  of  fact.  Mac- 
Lure  could  not  have  ridden  through  the  snow  of 
forty  wini  crs  without  suffering,  yet  no  one  ever 
heard  him  complain,  and  he  never  pled  illness  to 
any  messenger  by  night  or  day. 

"It  took  me,"  said  Jamie  Soutar  to  Milton 
afterwards,  "the  feck  o'  ten  meenuts  tae  howk 
h  m  an'  Jess  oot  ae  snawy  nicht  when  Drums 
tarned  bad  sudden,  and  if  he  didna  try  to  excuse 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY       287 

hlmstl  for  no  hearing  me  at  aince  \vi'  some  story 
aboot  juist  comin*  in  frae  Glen  Urtach,  and  no 
bein'  in  his  bed  for  the  laist  tvva  nichts. 

"  He  wes  that  carefu'  o'  himsel  an'  lazy  that  if 
it  hcdna  been  for  the  siller,  aVe  often  thocht, 
Milton,  he  wud  never  hae  dune  a  handstroke  o' 
wark  in  the  Glen. 

"  What  scunnered  me  wes  the  wy  the  bairns  • 
were  ta'en  in  wi'  him.  Man,  a've  seen  him  tak  a 
wee  laddie  on  his  knee  that  his  ain  mither  cudna 
quiet,  an'  lilt  '  Sing  a  song  o'  saxpence '  till  the 
bit  mannie  wud  be  lauchin'  like  a  gude  ane,  an' 
pooin'  the  doctor's  beard. 

"  As  for  the  wcemen,  he  fair  cuist  a  glamour 
ower  them  ;  they're  daein'  naethin'  noo  but  speak 
aboot  this  body  and  the  ither  he  cured,  an'  hoo 
he  aye  hed  a  couthy  word  for  sick  fouk. 
Weemen  hae  nae  discernment,  Milton;  tae  hear 
them  speak  ye  wud  think  MacLurc  hed  been  a 
releegious  man  like  yersel,  although,  as  ye  said, 
he  wes  little  mair  than  a  Gallio. 

"  Bell  Baxter  was  haverin'  awa  in  the  shop  tae 
sic  an  extent  aboot  the  wy  MacLure  brocht 
roond  Saunders  when  he  hed  the  fever  that  a* 


m 


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J  'f 

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I  ^41 


28S    A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

gied  oot  at  the  door,  a'  wes  that  disgusted,  an' 
a'm  telt  when  Tammas  Mitchell  heard  the  news 
in  the  smiddy  he  wes  juist  on  the  greeting. 

"  The  smith  said  that  he  wes  thinkin'  o'  Annie's 
tribble,  but  ony  wy  a'  ca'  it  rael  bairnly.  It's  no 
like  Drumtochty ;  ye're  setting  an  example, 
Milton,  wi'  yir  composure.  But  a'  mind  ye  took 
the  doctor's  meesure  as  sune  as  ye  cam  intae  the 
pairish." 

It  is  the  penalty  of  a  cynic  that  he  must  have 
some  relief  for  his  secret  grief,  and  Milton  began 
t(?  weary  of  life  in  Jamie's  hands  during  those 
days. 

Drumtochty  was  not  observant  in  the  matter  of 
health,  but  they  had  grown  sensitive  about  Dr. 
MacLure,  and  remarked  in  the  kirkyard  all 
summer  that  he  was  failing. 

"He  wes  aye  spare,"  said  Hillocks,  "an'  he's 
been  sair  twisted  for  the  laist  twenty  year,  but  a' 
never  mind  him  booed  till  the  year.  An'  he's 
gaein'  intae  sma'  buke  (bulk),  an'  a'  dinna  like 
that,  neeburs. 

*'  The  Glen  wudna  dae  weel  withoot  Weelum 
MacLure,  an'  he's  no  as  young  as  he  wes.     Man, 


mmmuatmmimmm 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY       289 

Drumslieugh,  ye  miclit  wile  him  aff  tac  tlic  saut 
water  atvveen  the  neeps  and  the  hairst.  He's  been 
workin^  forty  year  for  a  hoHday,  an*  it's  aboot  due." 

Drumsheugh  was  full  of  tact,  and  met  MacLure 
quite  by  accident  on  tlie  road. 

"Saunders  'ill  no  need  me  till  the  shearing 
begins,"  he  explained  tae  the  doctor,  "an'  a'm 
gaein'  tae  Brochty  for  a  turn  o'  the  hot  baths ; 
they're  fine  for  the  rheumatics. 

"  WuU  ye  no  come  wi'  me  for  auld  lang  syne  > 
it's  lonesome  for  a  solitary  man,  an'  it  wud  dae 
ye  gude." 

"Na,  na,  Drumsheugh,"  said  MacLure,  who 
understood  perfectly,  «*a've  dune  a'  thae  years 
withoot  a  break,  an'  a'm  laith  (unwilling)  tae  be 
takin'  holidays  at  the  tail  end. 

"  A'll  no  be  mony  months  wi'  ye  a'  thegither 
noo,  an'  a'm  wanting  tae  spend  a'  the  time  a'  hev 
in  the  Glen.  Ye  see  yersel  that  a'll  sune  be 
getting  ma  lang  rest,  an'  a'll  no  deny  that  a'm 
wearyin'  for  it." 

As  autumn  passed  into  winter,  the  Glen  noticed 
that  the  doctor's  hair  had  turned  grey,  and  that 
his  manner  had  lost  all  its  roughness.     A  feeling 


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J90  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 


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of  secret  gratitude  filled  their  hearts,  and  they 
united  in  a  conspiracy  of  attention.  Annie 
Mitchell  knitted  a  huge  comforter  in  red  and 
white,  which  the  doctor  wore  in  misery  for  one 
whole  day,  out  of  respect  for  Annie,  and  then 
hung  in  his  sitting-room  as  a  wall  ornament. 
Hillocks  used  to  intercept  hini  with  hot  drinks, 
and  one  drifting  day  compelled  him  to  shelter  till 
the  storm  abated.  Flora  Campbell  brought  a 
wonderful  compound  of  honey  and  whisky,  much 
tasted  in  Auchindarroch,  for  his  cough,  and  the 
mother  of  young  Burnbrae  filled  his  cupboard 
with  black  jam,  as  a  healing  measure.  Jamie 
Soutar  semed  to  have  an  endless  series  of  jobs  in 
the  doctor's  direction,  and  looked  in  "juist  tae 
rest  himsel "  in  the  kitchen. 

MacLurehad  been  slowly  taking  in  the  situation, 
and  at  last  he  unburdened  himself  one  night  to 
Jamie. 

**  What  ails  the  fouk,  think  ye  ?  for  they're  aye 
lecturin'  me  noo  tae  tak  care  o'  the  weet  and  tae 
wrap  masel  up,  an'  there's  no  a  week  but  they're 
sendin'  bit  presents  tae  the  hoose,  till  a'm  fair 
ashamed." 


•  I  11- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY       291 

"  Oo,  a'll  explain  that  in  a  meenut,"  answered 
Jamie,  "  for  a'  ken  the  Glen  weel.  Ye  see  they're 
juist  tryin'  the  Scripture  plan  o'  heapin'  coals  o' 
fire  on  yir  head. 

"Here  ye've  been  negleckin'  the  fouk  in 
seeckness  an'  lettin'  them  dee  afore  their  freends' 
eyes  withoot  a  f  ;cht,  an'  refusin'  tae  gang  tae  a 
puir  wumman  in  her  tribble,  an'  frichtenin'  the 
bairns — no,  a'm  no  dune— and  scourgin'  us  wi' 
fees,  and  livin'  yersel  on  the  fat  o'  the  land. 

"  Ye've  been  carryin'  on  this  trade  ever  sin  yir 
father  dee'd,  and  the  Glen  didna  notis.  But  ma 
word,  they've  fund  ye  oot  at  laist,  an'  they're 
ga'in'  tae  mak  ye  suffer  for  a'  yir  ill  usage.  Div 
ye  understand  noo  ? "  said  Jamie,  savagely. 

For  a  while  MacLure  was  silent,  and  then  he 
only  said : 

"  It's  little  a'  did  for  the  puir  bodies ;  but  ye 
hev  a  gude  hert,  Jamie,  a  rael  gude  hert." 

It  was  a  bitter  December  Sabbath,  and  the 
fathers  were  settling  the  affairs  of  the  parish 
ankle  deep  in  snow,  when  MacLure's  old  house- 
keeper told  Drumsheugh  that  the  doctor  was  not 
able  to  rise,  and  wished  to  see  him  in  the  afternoon 


I 

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292     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Hillocks,  shaking  his  head, 
and  that  day  Drumshcugh  omitted  four  pews 
with  the  ladle,  while  Jamie  was  so  vicious  on  the 
way  home  that  none  could  endure  him. 

Janet  had  lit  a  fire  in  the  unused  grate,  and 
hung  a  plaid  by  the  window  to  break  the  power 
of  the  cruel  north  wind,  but  the  bare  room  with 
its  half-a-dozen  bits  of  furniture  and  a  worn  strip 
of  carpet,  and  the  outlook  upon  the  snow  drifted 
up  to  the  second  pane  of  the  windo\v  and  the 
black  firs  laden  with  their  icy  burden,  sent  a  chill 
to  Drumsheugh's  heart. 

The  doctor  had  weakened  sadly,  and  could 
hardly  lift  his  head,  but  his  face  lit  up  at  the 
sight  of  his  visitor,  and  the  big  hand,  which  was 
now  quite  refined  in  its  whiteness,  came  out  from 
the  bed-clothes  with  the  old  warm  grip. 

"  Come  in  by,  man,  and  sit  doon  ;  it's  an  awfu' 
day  tae  bring  ye  sae  far,  but  a'  kent  ye  wudna 
grudge  the  traivel. 

"A'  wesna  sure  till  last  nicht,  an'  then  a*  felt 
it  wudna  be  lang,  an'  a'  took  a  wearyin'  this 
mornin'  tae  see  ye. 

"We've  been  freends  sin' we  were  laddies  at  the 


If 


lierul, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY       293 

auld  schule  in  the  firs,  an'  a'  wud  like  ye  tac  be 
wi'  me  at  the  end.  Ve  'ill  stay  the  nicht,  Paitrick, 
for  auld  lang  syne." 

Drumshcugh  was  much  sh-':en,  and  the  sound 
of  the  Christian  name,  which  he  had  not  heard 
since  his  mother's  death,  gave  him  a  "grue" 
(shiver),  as  if  one  had  spoken  from  the  other  world. 

"It's  maist  awfu'  tae  hear  ye  speakin'  aboot 
deein',  Weelum ;  a'  canna  bear  it.  We  'ill  hae 
the  Muirtown  doctor  up,  an'  ye  'ill  be  aboot  again 
in  nae  time. 

"  Ye  hevna  ony  sair  tribble ;  ye're  juist  trachlcd 
wi'  hard  wark  an'  necdin'  a  rest.  Dinna  say  ye're 
gaein'  tae  leave  us,  Weelum;  we  canna  dae 
withoot  ye  in  Drumtochty;"  and  Drumsheugh 
looked  wistfully  for  some  word  of  hope. 

"Na,  na,  Paitrick,  naething  can  be  dune,  an'  it's 
ower  late  tae  send  for  ony  doctor.  There's  a 
knock  that  canna  be  mista'en,  an'  a'  heard  it  last 
night.  A've  focht  deith  for  ither  fouk  mair  than 
forty  year,  but  ma  ain  time  lies  come  at 
laist. 

"  A've  nae  tribble  worth  mentionin'— a  bit  titch 
o'  bronchitis— an'  a've  hed  a  graund  constitution  ; 


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294    A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

but  a'm  fair  worn  oot,  Paitrick ;  that's  ma 
complaint,  an'  its  past  cutin'." 

Drumshcugh  went  over  to  the  fireplace,  and  for 
a  while  did  nothing  but  break  up  the  smouldering 
peats,  whose  smoke  powerfully  affected  his  nose 
and  eyes. 

"When  ye're  ready,  Paitrick,  there's  twa  or 
three  little  trokes  a'  wud  like  ye  tae  look  aiftcr, 
an'  a'll  tell  ye  aboot  them  as  lang's  ma  head's 
clear. 

"  A'  didna  keep  bulks,  as  ye  ken,  for  a'  aye  hcd 
a  guid  memory,  so  naebody  'ill  be  harried  for 
money  aifter  ma  deith,  and  ye  'ill  hae  nae  accoonts 
tae  collect. 

"  But  the  fouk  are  honest  in  Drumtochty,  and 
they  'ill  be  offerin'  ye  siller,  an'  a'll  gie  ye  ma 
mind  aboot  it.  Gin  it  be  a  puir  body,  tell  her  tae 
keep  it  and  get  a  bit  plaidie  wi'  the  money,  and 
she  'ill  maybe  think  o'  her  auld  doctor  at  a  time. 
Gin  it  be  a  bien  (well-to-do)  man,  tak  half  of 
what  he  offers,  for  a  Drumtochty  man  wud  scorn 
to  be  mean  in  sic  circumstances ;  and  if  onybody 
needs  a  doctor  an'  canna  pay  for  him,  see  he's  no 
left  tae  dee  when  a'm  oot  o'  the  road." 


■SB 


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THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNKY 

"  Nae  fear  o'  tliat  as  lang  as  a'm  livin',  Wcclum  ; 
that  hundred's  still  tae  the  fore,  ye  ken,  an'  a'll 
tak  care  it's  vveel  spent. 

"Yon  wes  the  best  job  we  ever  did  thcgither, 
an'  dookin'  Saunders ;  ye  'ill  no  forget  that  nicht, 
Wcclum  "—a  gleam  came  into  the  doctor's  eyes 
— "  tae  say  nacthin'  o*  the  Highlan'  fling." 

The  remembrance  of  that  great  victory  came 
upon  Drumsheugh,  and  tried  his  fortitude. 

"  What  'ill  become  o's  when  yc're  no  here  tac 
gie  a  hand  in  time  o'  need  .?  we  'ill  tak  ill  wi'  a 
stranger  that  disna  ken  ane  o's  frae  anither." 

"  It's  a'  for  the  best,  Paitrick,  an'  ye  'ill  see  that 
in  a  vvhilie.  A've  kent  fine  that  ma  day  wes 
owcr,  an'  that  ye  sud  hae  a  younger  man. 

•'  A'  did  what  a'  cud  tae  keep  up  wi'  the  new 
medicine,  but  a'  hed  little  time  for  rcadin',  an' 
nane  for  traivelHn'. 

"  A'm  the  last  o'  the  auld  schule,  an'  a'  ken  as 
weel  as  onybody  thet  a'  wesna  sae  dainty  an'  fine- 
mannered  as  the  town  doctors.  Ye  took  me  as  a' 
wes,  an'  naebody  ever  cuist  up  tae  me  that  a'  wes 
a  plain  man.  Na,  na ;  ye've  been  rael  kind 
an'  conseederate  a'  thae  years." 


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296    A  DOCTOR  OF  TIIK  OLD  SCHOOL 

"Weclum,  gin  ye  cairry  on  sic  nonsense  ony 
langer,"  interrupted  Drumsheugh,  huskily,  "d'il 
leave  the  hoose  ;  a'  canna  stand  it." 

"It's  the  truth,  Paitrick,  but  we  'ill  gae  on 
wi'  oor  wark,  for  a'ni  fail  in'  fast. 

"Gie  Janet  ony  sticks  of  furniture  she  needs 
tae  furnish  a  hoose,  and  sell  a'  thing  else  tae  pay 
the  wricht  (undertaker)  an'  bedrel  (gravediggcr). 
If  the  new  doctor  be  a  young  laddie  and  no  vcrra 
rich,  ye  micht  let  him  hae  the  bulks  an'  instruments; 
it  'ill  aye  be  a  help. 

"But  a'  wudn-i  like  ye  tae  sell  Jess,  for  she's 
been  a  faithfu'  servant,  an'  a  freend  tae.  There's 
a  note  or  twa  in  that  drawer  a'  savit,  an'  if  ye 
kcnt  ony  man  that  wud  gie  her  a  bite  o'  grass 
and  a  sta'  in  his  stable  till  she  followed  her 
maister — " 

"Confoond  ye,  Weclum,"  broke  out  Drum- 
sheugh  ;  "  it's  doonricht  cruel  o'  ye  to  speak  like 
this  tae  me.  Whar  wud  Jess  gang  but  tae 
Drumsheugh?  she  'ill  hae  her  run  o'  heck  an' 
manger  sae  lang  as  she  lives;  the  Glen  wudna 
like  tae  see  anither  man  on  Jess,  and  nae  man  'ill 
ever  touch  the  auld  mare." 


..^■.%)=.. 


TFfE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY       297 

"Dinna  mind  me,  Paitrick,  for  a'  expcckit  this  ; 
but  ye  ken  we're  no  vcrra  gleg  wi'  oor  tongues  in 
Drumtochty,  an'  dinna  tell  a'  that's  in  oor  hearts. 
"Wccl,  that's  a'  that  a'  mind,  a".'  the  rest 
a'  leave  tae  yersel.  A've  neither  kith  nor  kin  tae 
bury  me,  sae  you  an'  the  neeburs  'ill  need  tae  lat 
me  doon;  but  gin  Tammas  Mitchell  or  Saunders 
be  stannin'  near  and  lookin'  as  if  they  wud  like  a 
cord,  gie't  tae  them,  Paitrick.  They're  balth  dour 
chiels,  and  haena  muckle  tae  say,  but  Tammas 
hes  a  ground  hert,  and  there's  waur  fouk  in  the 
Glen  than  Saunders. 

••A'm  gettin'  drowsy,  an'  a'll  no  be  able  tae 
follow  ye  sune,  a'  doot ;  wud  ye  read  a  bit  tae  me 
afore  a'  fa'  ower  ? 

"Ye  'ill  find  ma  mither's  Bible  on  the  drawers' 
heid,  but  ye  'ill  need  tae  come  close  tae  the  bed, 
for  a'm  no  hearin'  or  seein'  sae  weel  as  \'  wes 
when  ye  cam." 

Drumshcugh  put  on  his  spectacles  and  searched 
for  a  comfortable  Scripture,  while  the  light  of  the 
lamp  fell  on  his  shaking  hands  and  the  doctor's 
face,  where  the  shadow  was  now  settling. 

"  Ma  mither  aye  wantit  this  read  tae  her  when 


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298    A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

she  wes  sober"  (weak),  and  Drumsheugh  began, 
**  In  My  Father's  house  arc  many  mansions,"  but 
MacLure  stopped  him. 

"It's  a  bonnie  word,  an'  yir  mither  wes  a 
sanct;  but  it's  no  for  the  like  o'  me.  It's  ower 
gude  ;  a'  daurna  tak  it. 

"Shut  the  buik  an'  let  it  open  itsel,  an'  ye  'ill 
get  a  bit  a've  been  readin'  every  nicht  the  laist 
month." 

Then  Drumsheugh  found  the  Parable  wherein 
the  Master  tells  us  what  God  thinks  of  a  Pharisee 
and  of  a  penitent  sinner,  till  he  came  to  the 
words:  "And  the  publican,  standing  afar  off, 
would  not  lift  up  so  much  as  his  eyes  to  heaven, 
but  smote  upon  his  breast,  saying,  God  be 
merciful  to  me  a  s'nner." 

"  That  micht  hae  been  written  for  me,  Paitrick, 
or  ony  ither  auld  sinner  that  hes  fccnished  his 
life,  an'  hes  naething  tae  say  for  liimsel. 

"  It  wesna  easy  for  me  tae  get  tae  kirk,  but  a' 
cud  hae  managed  wi'  a  stretch,  an'  a*  used 
langidge  a'  sudna,  an'  a'  micht  hae  been  gentler, 
and  no  been  so  short  in  the  temper.  A'  see't  a' 
noo. 


\^ 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY       299 

"It's  ower  late  tae  mend,  but  ye  'ill  maybe 
juist  say  to  the  fouk  that  I  wes  sorry,  an'  an) 
houpin'  that  the  Almichty  'ill  hae  mercy  on 
me. 

"  Cud  ye  .  .  .  pit  up  a  bit  prayer,  Paitrick  ? " 
"A'  haena   the  words,"  said   Drumsheugh   in 

great  distress;  "  wud  ye  like's  tae  send  for  the 

minister  ? " 

"  It's  ni)  the  time  for  tJiat  noo,  an'  a'  wud  rather 
hae  yersel— juist  what's  in  yir  heart,  Paitrick ;  the 
Almichty  'ill  ken  the  lave  (rest)  Himsel'." 

So  Drumsheugh  knelt  and  prayed  with  many 
pauses. 

••  Almichty  God  .  .  .  dinna  be  hard  on  Weelum 
MacLure,  for  he's  no  been  hard  wi*  onybody  in 
Drumtochty.  ...  Be  kind  tae  him  as  he's  been 
tae  us  a'  for  forty  year.  .  .  .  We're  a*  sinners 
afore  Thee.  .  .  .  Forgive  him  what  he's  dune 
wrang,  an'  dinna  ctist  it  up  tae  him.  .  .  .  Mind 
the  fouk  he's  helpit  .  .  .  the  weemen  an' 
bairnies  ...  an'  gie  him  a  welcome  hame,  for 
he's  sair  ueedin't  after  a'  his  wark.  .  .  . 
Amen." 

"Thank  ye,  Paitrick,  and  gude  nicht  tae  ye. 


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300     A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

Ma  ai'n  true  freend,  gie's  yir  hand,  for  a'U  maybe 
no  ken  ye  again. 

"Noo  a'il  say  ma  mither's    prayer  and   hae 
a    sleep,  but    ye    'ill    no    leave    me    till    -'    is 


» 


ovver. 

Then  he  repeated  as  he  had  done  every  night 
of  his  life : 

"  This  niglil  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
1  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep, 
And  if  I  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

He  was  sleeping  quietly  when  the  wind  drove 
the  snow  against  the  window  with  a  sudden 
"  swish  " ;  and  he  instantly  awoke,  so  to  say,  in 
his  sleep.     Some  one  needed  him. 

"  Are  ye  frae  Glen  Urtach  > "  and  an  unheard 
voice  seemed  to  have  answered  him. 

"Worse  is  she,  an'  sufferin'  awfu' ;  that's  no 
lichtsome  ;  ye  did  richt  tae  come. 

"  The  front  door's  drifted  up ;  gang  roond  tae 
the  back,  an'  ye  'ill  get  intac  the  kitchen  ;  a'U  be 
ready  in  a  mecnut. 

"Gie's    a    hand    wi'    the    lantern    when    am 


:* 


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hae 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY       301 

saiddling  Jess,  an*  ye  ncedna  come  on  till  day- 
licht ;  a'  ken  the  road." 

Then  he  was  away  in  his  sleep  on  some 
errand  of  mercy,  and  struggling  through  the 
storm. 

"  It's  a  coorse  nicht,  Jess,  an'  heavy  iraivellin' ; 
can  ye  see  afore  ye,  lass  ?  for  a'm  clean  confused 
wi'  the  snaw  ;  bide  a  wee  till  a'  find  the  diveesion 
o'  the  roads  ;  it's  aboot  here  back  or  forrit. 

"Steady,  lass,  steady,  dinna  plunge;  it's  a 
drift  we're  in,  but  ye're  no  sinkin' ;  ...  up  noo  ; 
.  .  .  there  ye  are  on  the  road  again. 

"  Eh,  it's  deep  the  nicht,  an'  hard  on  us  baith, 
but  there's  a  puir  wuniman  micht  dee  if  we  didna 
warstle  through ;  .  .  ,  that's  it ;  ye  ken  fine  what 
a'..i  saying. 

"  We  'ill  hae  tae  leave  the  road  here,  an' 
tak  tae  the  muir.  Sandie  'ill  no  can  leave  the 
wife  alane  tae  meet  us  ;  .  .  .  feel  for  yersel,  lass, 
and  keep  oot  o'  the  holes. 

"  Yon's  the  hoose  black  in  the  snaw.     Sandie  ! 
man,  ye  frichtened  us ;  a'  didna  see  ye  ahint  the 
dyke  ;  hoo's  the  wife  ? " 
After  a  while  he  began  again : 


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Ti|.'4«»**i»  M-» 


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30a      A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"  Ye're  fair  dune,  Jess,  and  so  a'  am  masel ; 
we're  baith  gettin*  auld,  an*  dinna  tak  sac  vveel  \vi* 
the  nicht  wark. 

"  We  'ill  SLinc  be  hame  noo ;  this  is  the  black 
wood,  an'  it's  no  lang  aifter  that ;  we're  ready 
for  oor  beds.  Jess  ;  .  .  .  ay,  ye  like  a  clap  at  a 
time  ;  mony  a  mile  we've  gaed  thegither. 

"  Yen's  the  licht  in  the  kitchen  window ;  nae 
wonder  ye're  nickering  (neighing) ;  .  ,  ,  it's 
been  a  stiff  journey ;  a'm  tired,  lass  .  ,  .  a'm 
tired  tae  deith,"  and  the  voice  died  into 
silence. 

Drumsheugh  held  his  friend's  hand,  which  now 
and  again  tightened  in  his,  and  as  he  watched,  a 
change  came  over  the  face  on  the  pillow  beside 
him.  The  lines  of  weariness  disappeared,  as  if 
God's  hand  had  passed  over  it ;  and  peace  began 
to  ^ather  round  the  closed  eyes. 

The  doctor  has  forgotten  the  toil  of  later  years, 
and  has  gone  back  to  his  boyhood. 


"  The  Lord's  my  Shepherd,  I'll  not  want," 

he  repeated,  till  he  came  to  the  last  verse,  and 
then  he  hesitated. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY       303 


;  nae 

.    it's 

a'm 

into 


"Goodness  and  mercy  all  my  life 
Shall  surely  follow  me. 

"  Follow  me  .  .  ,  and  .  .  ,  and  .  .  .  what's 
next  ?  Mither  said  I  wes  tae  haed  ready  when 
slie  cam. 

"'A'U  come  afore  ye  gang  tae  sleep,  Wullie, 
but  ye  'ill  no  get  yir  kiss  unless  ye  can  feenish 
the  psalm.' 

"  And  ...  in  God's  house  ...  for  evermore 
my  .  .  .  hoo  dis  it  rin  ?  a'  canna  mind  the  next 
word  .  ,  .  my,  my 

"  It's  ower  dark  noo  tae  read  it,  an'  mither  'ill 
sune  be  comin'." 

Drumsheugh,  in  an  agony,  whispered  into  his 
ear,  *'  *  My  dwelling-place,'  Weelum." 

"  That's  it,  that's  it  a*  noo  ;  wha  said  it  ? 

"And  in  God's  house  for  evermore 
My  dwelling-place  shall  be. 

"A'm  ready  noo,  an'  a'll  get  ma  kiss  when 
mither  ccmes  ;  a'  wish  she  wud  come,  for  a'm 
tired  an'  wantin'  tae  sleep. 

"  Yon's  her  step  ...  an*  she's  carryin*  a  licht 
in  her  hand  ;  a*  see  it  through  the  door. 


304   A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"Mither!  a'  :ent  ye  wudna  forget  yir  laddie, 
for  ye  promised  tae  come,  an'  a've  feenished  ma 
psalm. 

"  And  in  God's  house  for  evermore 
My  dwelling-place  shall  be. 

"  Gie  me  the  kiss,  mither,  for  a've  been  waitin' 
for  ye,  an'  a'll  sune  be  asleep." 

The  grey  morning  light  fell  on  Drumsheugh, 
still  holding  his  friend's  cold  hand,  and  staring  at 
a  hearth  where  the  fire  had  died  down  into  white 
ashes ;  but  the  peace  on  the  doctor's  face  was  of 
one  who  rested  from  his  labours. 


f  li 


y 


THE    MOURNING   OF  THE   GLEN 

Dr.  MacLure  was  buried  during  the  great 
snowstorm,  which  is  still  spoken  of,  and  will  re- 
main the  standard  of  snowfall  in  Drumtochty 
for  the  century.  The  snow  was  deep  on  the 
Monday,  and  the  men  that  gave  notice  of  his 
funeral  had  hard  work  to  reach  the  doctor's  dis- 
tant patients.  On  Tuesday  morning  it  began  to 
fall  again  in  heavy  fleecy  flakes,  and  continued 
till  Thursday,  and  then  on  Thursday  the  north 
wind  rose  anf  ■  swept  the  snow  into  the  hollows 
of  the  roads  that  went  to  the  upland  farms,  and 
built  it  into  a  huge  bank  at  the  mouth  of  Glen 
Urtach,  and  laid  it  across  our  main  roads  in  drifts 
of  every  size  and  the  most  lovely  shapes,  and 
filled  up  crevices  in  the  hills  to  the  depth  of 
fifty  feet. 

On  Friday  morning  the  wind  had  sunk  to  pass- 


Msammmm 


4>:ik^*^^4.- 


1'; 


!'! 


. 


•I 


306  A  DOCTOR  OF  TIIK  OLD  SCIIOOi. 

ing  gusts  that  powdered  your  coat  with  white, 
and  the  sun  was  shining  on  one  of  those  winter 
huidscapes  no  townsman  can  imagine  and  no 
countryman  ever  forgets.  Tlie  Glen,  from  end 
to  end  and  side  to  side,  was  clotlied  in  a  glister- 
ing mantle  white  as  no  fuller  on  earth  could 
white  it,  that  flung  its  skirts  over  the  clumps  of 
trees  and  scattered  farm-houses,  and  was  only 
divided  where  the  Tochty  ran  with  black,  swollen 
stream.  The  great  moor  rose  and  fell  in  swell- 
ing billows  of  snow  that  arched  themselves  over 
the  burns,  running  deep  in  the  mossy  ground, 
and  hid  the  black  peat  bogs  with  a  thin,  treacher- 
ous crust.  Beyond,  the  hills  northwards  and 
westwards  stood  high  in  white  majesty,  save 
where  the  black  crags  of  Glen  Urtach  broke  the 
line,  and,  above  our  lower  Grampians,  we  caught 
glimpses  of  the  distant  peaks  that  lifted  their 
heads  in  holiness  unto  God. 

It  seemed  tome  a  fitting  day  for  William  Mac- 
Lure's  funeral,  rather  than  summer  time,  with  its 
flowers  and  golden  corn.  He  had  not  been  a  soft 
man,  nor  had  he  lived  an  easy  life,  and  now  he 
was  to  be  laid  to  rest  amid  the  austere  majesty 
of  winter,  yet  in  the  shining  of  the  sun.     Jamie 


WmW\ 


thcii 


THE   MOURNING   OF   THE   GLKN    307 

Soutar,  with  whom  I  toiled  across  the  Glen,  did 
not  think  with  me,  but  was  gravely  concerned. 

"  Nae  doot  it's  a  graund  sicht  ;  the  like  o't  is 
no  glen  tac  us  twice  in  a  generation,  an'  nae  king 
was  ever  carried  tae  his  tomb  in  sic  a  cathedral. 

"  But  it's  the  fouk  a'm  conseederin',  an'  hoo 
they  'ill  win  through;  it's  hard  eneuch  for  them 
'at's  on  the  road,  an'  it's  clean  impossible  for  the 
lave. 

"They  'ill  dac  their  best,  every  man  o'  them, 
ye  may  depend  on  that,  an'  hed  it  been  open 
weather  there  wudna  hev  been  six  able-bodied 
men  missin'. 

"  A'  wes  mad  at  them,  because  they  never  said 
onything  when  he  wes  leevin',  but  they  felt  for  a' 
that  what  he  hed  dune,  an',  a'  think,  he  kent  it 
afore  he  deed. 

"  He  hed  juist  ae  faut,  tae  ma  thinkin',  for  a' 
never  jidged  the  waur  o'  him  for  his  titch  of 
rochness — guid  trees  hae  gnarled  bark — but  he 
thocht  ower  little  o'  himscl. 

**  Noo,  gin  a'  hed  asked  him  hoo  mony  fouk 
wud  come  tae  his  beerial,  he  wud  hae  said,  *  They 
'ill  be  Drumsheugh  an'  yersel,  an'  maybe  twa  or 
three  neeburs  besides  the  minister,'  an'  the  fact 


^^'^i^^l 


;:3:-:^i-iN4:= 


p* 


I  ''ii 


308  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

is  that  nac  man  in  oor  time  wud  hae  sic  a  gither- 
m'  if  it  wcrcna  for  the  storm. 

"  Yc  sec,"  said  Jamie,  who  had  been  counting 
heads  all  morning,  "  there's  six  shepherds  in  Glen 
Urtach — they're  shut  up  fast  ;  an'  there  micht 
hae  been  a  gude  half  dizen  frae  Dunleith  wy,  an' 
a'm  telt  there's  nae  road ;  an'  there's  the  heich 
Glen,  nae  man  cud  cross  the  muir  the  day,  an'  it's 
aucht  mile  roond  ;"  and  Jamie  proceeded  to  re- 
view the  Glen  in  every  detail  of  age,  driftiness  of 
road  and  strength  of  body,  till  we  arrived  at  the 
doctor's  cottage,  when  he  had  settled  on  a  reduc- 
tion of  fifty  through  stress  of  weather. 

Drumsheugh  was  acknowledged  as  chief 
mourner  by  the  Glen,  and  received  us  at  the  gate 
with  a  labored  attempt  at  everyday  manners. 

"Ye've  hed  heavy  traivellin',  a'  doot,  an'  ye 
'ill  be  cauld.  It's  hard  weather  for  the  sheep, 
an'  a'm  thinkin'  this  'ill  be  a  feeding  storm. 

"  There  wes  nae  use  trying  tae  dig  oot  the 
front  door  yestreen,  for  it  wud  hae  been  drifted 
up  again  before  morning.  We've  cleared  awa 
the  snow  at  the  back  for  the  prayer ;  ye  'ill  get 
in  at  the  kitchen  door. 

*'  There's  a  puckle  Dunleith  men " 


a 


THE   MOURNING   OF   THE   GLEN    309 

"Wha?"  cried  Jamie  in  an  instant. 

"  Dunleitli  men,"  said  Drumshcugh. 

"  Div  ye  mean  they're  here,  whar  arc  they?" 

"Drying  themsels  at  the  fire,  an'  no  Avithoot 
need ;  ane  of  them  gied  ower  the  liead  in  a  drift, 
and  his  neeburs  hed  tae  pu'  liini  oot. 

"It  took  tliem  a  gude  fower  oors  tae  get  across, 
an'  it  wes  coorse  wark ;  they  likit  liim  weel  doon 
that  \vy,  an',  Janr/.c  man" — liere  Drumsheugh's 
voice  changed  its  note,  and  Ids  public  manner 
disappeared — "  what  div  yc  think  o'  this  ?  every 
man  o'  them  hes  on  his  bkicks." 

"It's  mair  than  cud  be  expeckit,"  said  Jamie  ; 
"  but  whar  dae  yon  men  come  frae,  Drum- 
shcugh  ?" 

Two  men  in  phiids  were  descending  the  liill 
behind  the  doctor's  cottage,  taking  three  feet 
at  a  stride,  and  carrying  long  staffs  in  their  hands. 

"  They're  Glen  Urtach  men,  Jamie,  for  ane  o' 
them  wes  at  Kildrummie  fair  wi*  sheep,  but  hoo 
they've  wun  doon  passes  mc." 

"  It  canna  be,  Drumshcugh,"  said  Jamie,  great- 
ly excited.  "  Glen  Urtach's  steikit  up  wi'  snu 
like  a  locked  door. 

"  Ye're   no  surely  frae  the   Glen,  lads,"  as  the 


3IO  A  DOCTOR  OF  TIIK  OLD  SCIIOOT. 


men  leaped  the  dyke  and  crossed  to  tlie  back 
door,  the  snow  falling  from  their  plaids  as  they 
walked. 

"  We're  that  an'  nac  mistak,  but  a'  thocht  we 
wild  be  lickit  ae  place,  ch,  Chairlie?  a'm  no  sae 
weel  acc[uant  wi*  the  hill  on  this  side,  an'  there 
wes  some  kittle  (hazardous)  drifts." 

"  It  wes  grand  o'  ye  tae  mak  the  attempt,** 
said  Drumsheugh,  "  an'  a'm  gled  ye're  safe." 

"  He  cam  through  as  bad  himsel  tae  help  ma 
wife,"  was  Charlie's  reply. 

"  They're  three  mair  Urtach  shepherds  'ill 
come  in  by  sune;  they're  frae  Upper  Urtach,  an* 
we  saw  them  fording  the  river  ;  ma  certes,  it  took 
them  a'  their  time,  for  it  wes  up  tae  their  waists 
and  rinnin'  like  a  mill  lade,  but  they  jined  hands 
and  cam  ower  fine."  And  the  Urtach  men  went 
in  to  the  fire. 

The  Gli;)i  began  to  arrive  in  twos  and  threes, 
and  Jaml: ,  from  a  point  of  vantage  at  the  gate, 
and  under  an  appearance  of  utter  indifference, 
checked  his  roll  till  even  he  was  satisfied. 

"  Weelum  MacLure  'ill  hae  the  beerial  he  de- 
serves in  spite  o*  sna  and  drifts ;  it  passes  a'  tae 
see  hoo  they've  githercd  frae  far  an*  near." 


lie   back 
as  tlicy 

oclit  wc 

no  sac 

ti'  there 

tempt," 
e." 
iclp  rna 

rds  'ill 
Lch,  an' 
it  took 
waists 
hands 
ti  went 

threes, 
-  gate, 
;rence, 

he  de- 
a'  tae 


THE   MOURNING   OF   TIIH   GLKN    .^m 

"A'm  thinkin'  ye  can   collock   thcni    for  the 

minister  noo,  nrunisheu^di.     A'body's  here  ex- 

cept   the  heich    Glen,  an*   we  maunna    hike  for 
them." 

"  Dinna  be  sac  sure  o'  that,  Jamie.  Yon's 
terrible  like  them  on  the  road,  wf  Whinnie  at 
their  head  ;"  and  so  it  was,  twelve  in  all,  only 
old  Adam  Ross  absent,  detained  by  force,  bcin" 
eighty-two  years  of  age. 

"It  wud  hae  been  lemptin'  Trovidcnce  tae 
cross  the  muir,"  Whinnie  explained,  "  and  it's  a 
fell  stap  roond ;  a'  doot  we're  laist." 

"  See,  Jamie,"  said  Drumsheugh,  as  he  went  to 
the  house,  "  gin  there  be  ony  antern  body  in  sicht 
afore  we  begin  ;  we  maun  mak  allooances  the 
day  wi'  twa  feet  o'  sna  on  the  grund,  tae  say 
nacthin'  o*  drifts." 

"  There's  something  at  the  turnin',  an'  it's  no 

fouk;  it's  a  machine  o'  some    kind    or   ither 

maybe  a  bread  cart  that's  focht  its  wy  up." 

"  Na,  it's  no  that ;  there's  twa  horses,  anc 
afore  the  ither;  if  it's  no  a  dogcairt  wi'  twa 
men  in  the  front  ;  they  'ill  be  comin'  tae  the 
beerial." 

••  What  wud  ye  sac,  Jamie,"  Hillocks   suggest- 


ll 


,5,^ 


♦I' 


'  m 


ir^' 


312  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

cd,  "  but  it  inicht  be  some  o'  thac  Muirtown  doc- 
tors ?     they  were  awfu'  chiei  \vi'  MacLure." 

**  It's  nae  Muirtown  doctors,"  cried  Jamie,  in 
great  exultation,  "  nor  ony  ithcr  doctors.  A' 
ken  thae  horses,  and  wha's  ahint  them.  Quiciv, 
man  Hillocks,  stop  the  fouk,  and  tell  Druni- 
sheugh  tae  come  oot,  for  Lord  Kilspindie  hes 
come  up  frae  Muirtown  Castle." 

Jamie  himself  slipped  behind,  and  did  not  wish 
to  be   seen. 

"  It's  the  respeck  he's  gettin*  the  day  frae  high 
an'  low,"  was  Jamie's  husky  apology  ;  "  tae  think 
o'  them  fechtin'  their  wy  doon  frae  Glen  Urtach,- 
and  toiling  roond  frae  the  heich  Glen,  an'  his 
lordship  driving  through  the  drifts  a'  the  road 
frae  Muirtown,  juist  tae  honour  Weelum  Mac- 
Lure's  beerial. 

"  It's  nae  ceremony  the  day,  ye  may  lippen  tae 
it  ;  it's  the  hert  brocht  the  fouk,  an'  ye  can  see 
it  in  their  faces ;  ilka  man  hes  his  ain  reason,  an' 
he's  thinkin'  on't,  though  he's  speakin'  o'  riaethin' 
but  the  storm  ;  he's  mindin'  the  day  Weelum 
pued  him  oot  frae  the  jaws  o' death,  or  the  nicht 
he  savit  the  gude  wife  in  her  oor  o'  tribble. 

"That's     why     they  pit  on    their  blacks  this 


'I 

!  U 


■•r^»-«*i#— M*,-_ .. 


)OL 

)wn  doc- 
ire. 

'amic,  in 
ors.  A' 
Ouick, 
I  Druni- 
idic    lies 

not  wish 

rac  high 
ac  think 
Urtach,' 
an'  his 
:he  road 
im  Mac- 

3pen  tae 
can  see 
ison,  an' 
riaethin' 
VVeelum 
he  nicht 
)le. 
cks  this 


THE   MOURNING   OF   THE   GLEN    313 

niornin'  afore  it  wes  licht,  and  wrastled  through 
the  sna  drifts  at  risk  o'  life.  Drumtochty  fouk 
canna  say  muckle,  it's  an  awfu'  peety,  and  they 
'ill  dae  their  best  tae  show  naethin',  but  a'  can 
read  it  a'  in  their  een. 

"But  wae's  me"— and  Jamie  broke  down 
utterly  behind  a  fir  tree,  so  tender  a  thing  is  a 
cynic's  heart—''  that  fouk  'ill  tak  a  man's  best 
wark  a'  his  days  withoot  a  word  an'  no  dae  him 
honour  till  he  dees.  Oh,  if  they  hed  only  gither- 
ed  like  this  juist  aince  when  he  wes  livin',  an'  lat 
him  see  he  hedna  laboured  in  vain.  His  reward 
hes  come  ower  late,  ower  late." 

During  Jamie's  vain  regret,  the  Castle  trap, 
bearing  the  marks  of  a  wild  passage  in  the  snow- 
covered  wheels,  a  broken  shaft  tied  with  rope,  a 
twisted  'amp,  and  the  panting  horses,  pulled  up 
between  two  rows  of  farmers,  and  Drumsheugh 
received  his  lordship  with  evident  emotion. 

"  Ma  lord  ....  we  never  thocht  o'  this  .... 
an'  sic  a  road." 

"  How  are  you,  Drumsheugh  ?  and  how  are  you 
all  this  wintry  day?  That's  how  I'm  half  an  hour 
late  ;  it  took  us  four  hours'  stiff  work  for  sixteen 
miles,  mostly  in  the  drifts,  of  course," 


(U 


1  ,' 


>';> 


i    : 


314  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"  It  wes  gude  o'  yi'r  lordship,  tae  mak  sic  an 
effort,  an'  the  hale  Glen  wull  be  gratefu'  tae  ye, 
for  ony  kindness  tae  him  is  kindness  tae  us." 

*' You  make  too  much  of  it,  Drumsheugh,"  and 
the  clear,  firm  voice  was  heard  of  all ;  "  it  would 
have  taken  more  than  a  few  snow  drifts  to  keep 
me  from  showing  my  respect  to  William  Mac- 
Lure's  memory." 

When  all  had  gathered  in  a  half  circle  Defore 
the  kitchen  door,  Lord  Kilspindie  came  out — 
every  man  noticed  he  had  left  his  overcoat,  and 
was  in  black,  like  the  Glen — and  took  ct  place  in 
the  middle  with  Drumsheugh  and  Burnbrae,  his 
two  chief  tenants,  on  the  right  and  left,  and  as 
the  minister  appeared  every  man  bared  hfs  head. 

The  doctor  looked  on  the  company — a  hun- 
dren  men  such  as  for  strength  and  gravity  you 
could  hardly  have  matched  in  Scotland — stand- 
ing out  in  picturesque  relief  against  the  white 
background,  and  he  said  : 

"  It's  a  bitter  day,  friends,  and  some  of  you 
are  old  ;  perhaps  it  might  be  wise  to  cover  your 
heads  before  I  begin  to  pray." 
.    Lord  Kilspindie,  standing  erect  and  grey-head- 
ed between  the  two  old  men,  replied : 


< 


OOL 

ik  sic  an 
u'  tae  ye, 
J  us." 
gh,"  and 
it  would 
to  keep 
am  Mac- 

e  Defore 
e  out — 
oat,  and 
place  in 
brae,  his 
,  and  as 
i''s  head, 
-a  hun- 
'ity  you 
—stand- 
e  white 

of  you 
er  your 

y-head- 


THE   MOURNING   OF   THE   GLEN    ^i-^ 

"We  thank  you,  Dr.  Davidson,  for  your 
thoughtfulness ;  but  he  endured  many  a  storm 
in  our  service,  and  we  are  not  afraid  of  a  few 
minutes'  cold  at  his  funeral." 

A  look  flashed  round  the  stern  faces,  and  was 
reflected  from  the  minister,  who  seemed  to  stand 
higher. 

His  prayer,  we  noticed  with  critical  apprecia- 
tion, was  composed  for  the  occasi  n,  and  the 
first  part  was  a  thanksgiving  to  God  for  the  life- 
work  of  our  doctor,  wherein  each  clause  was  a 
reference  to  his  services  and  sacrifices.  No  one 
moved  or  said  Amen — it  had  been  strange  with 
us — but  when  every  man  had  heard  the  gratitude 
of  his  dumb  heart  offered  to  Heaven,  there  was 
a  great  sigh. 

After  which  the  minister  prayed  that  we 
might  have  grace  to  live  as  this  man  had  done 
from  youth  to  old  age,  not  for  himself,  but  for 
others,  and  that  we  might  be  followed  to  our 
grave  by  somewhat  of  "  that  love  wherewith  we 
mourn  this  day  Thy  servant  departed."  Again 
the  same  sigh,  and  the  minister  said  Amen. 

The  "  wricht"  stood  in  the  doorway  without 
speaking,  and   four  stalwart  men  came   forward. 


Ii< 


.  w= 


h 


316  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

They  were  the  volunteers  that  would  Hft  the 
coffin  and  carry  it  for  the  first  stage.  One  was 
Tammas,  Annie  Mitchell's  man  ;  and  another 
was  Saunders  Bax^ier,  for  whose  life  MacLure 
had  his  great  fight  with  death  ;  and  the  third 
was  the  Glen  Urtach  shepherd  for  whose  wife's 
sake  MacLure  suffered  a  broken  leg  and  three 
fractured  ribs  in  a  drift ;  and  the  fourth,  a  Dun- 
leith  man,  had  his  own  reasons  of  remembrance. 

"  He's  far  lichter  than  ye  wud  expeck  for  sae 
big  a  man — there  wesna  muckle  left  o*  him,  ye 
see — but  the  road  is  heavy,  and  a'll  change  ye 
aifter  the  first  half  mile." 

"  Ye  needna  tribble  yersel,  wricht,"  safd  the 
man  from  Glen  Urtach ;  "  the'U  be  nae  change 
in  the  cairryin'  the  day,"  and  Tammas  was  thank- 
ful some  one  had  saved  him  speaking. 

Surely  no  funeral  is  like  unto  that  of  a  doctor 
for  pathos,  and  a  peculiar  sadness  fell  on  that 
company  as  his  body  was  carried  out  who  for 
nearly  half  a  century  had  been  their  help  in  sick- 
ness, and  had  beaten  back  death  time  after  time 
from  their  door.  Death  after  all  was  victor,  for 
the  man  that  saved  them  had  not  been  able  to 
save  himself,  ,.  - 


I 


THE    MOURNING   OF   THE    GLEN    317 

As  the  coffin  passed  the  stable  door  a  horse 
neighed  within,  and  every  man  looked  at  his 
neighbour.  It  was  his  old  mare  crying  to  her 
master. 

Jamie  slipped  into  the  stable,  and  went  up 
into  the  stall. 

"  Puir  lass,  ye're  no  gaein'  wi'  him  the  day,  an' 
ye  'ill  never  see  him  again  ;  ycVe  hed  yir  last 
ride  thegither,  an'  ye  were  true  tae  the  end." 

After  the  funeral  Drumsheugh  came  himself 
for  Jess,  and  took  her  to  his  farm.  Saunders 
made  a  bed  for  her  with  soft,  dry  straw,  and  pre- 
pared for  her  supper  such  things  as  horses  love. 
Jess  would  neither  take  food  nor  rest,  but  moved 
uneasily  in  her  stall,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting 
for  some  one  that  never  came  No  man  knows 
what  a  horse  or  a  dog  understands  and  feels,  for 
God  hath  not  given  them  our  speech.  If  any 
footstep  was  heard  in  the  courtyard,  she  began 
to  neigh,  and  was  always  looking  round  as  the 
door  opened.  But  nothing  would  tempt  her  to 
eat,  and  in  the  night-time  Drumsheugh  heard 
her  crying  as  if  she  expected  tc  be  taken  out  for 
some  sudden  journey.  The  Kildrummie  veteri- 
nary came  to  see  her,  and  said  that  nothing  could 


■■  I 
t 

;  I 


318  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

be  done  when  it  happened  after  this  fashion  with 
an  old  horse. 

"  A've  seen  it  aince  afore,"  he  said.  "  Gin  she 
were  a  Christian  instead  o'  a  horse,  ye  micht  say 
she  wes  dying  o'  a  broken  hert." 

He  recommended  that  she  should  be  shot  to 
end  her  misery,  but  no  man  could  be  found  in 
the  Glen  to  do  the  deed,  and  Jess  relieved  them 
of  the  trouble.  When  Drumsheugh  went  to  the 
stable  on  Monday  morning  a  week  after  Dr. 
MacLure  fell  on  sleep,  Jess  was  resting  at  last, 
but  her  eyes  were  open  and  her  face  turned  to 
the  door. 

'*  She  wes  a'  the  wife  hehed,"  said  Jamie,  as  he 
rejoined  the  procession,  **  an'  they  luved  ane 
anither  weel." 

The  black  thread  wound  itself  along  the  white- 
ness of  the  Glen,  the  coffin  first,  with  his  lordship 
and  Drumsheugh  behind,  and  the  others  as  they 
pleased,  but  in  closer  ranks  than  usual,  because 
the  snow  on  either  side  was  deep,  and  because 
this  was  not  as  other  funerals.  They  could  see 
the  women  standing  at  the  door  of  every  house 
on  the  hillside,  and  weeping,  for  each  family  had 
some  good  reason  in  forty  years  to  remember 


-.=-*^ 


)0L 

ion  with 

Gin  she 
icht  say 

shot  to 
ound  in 
id  them 
t  to  the 
ter   Dr. 

at  last, 
rned  to 

ie,  as  he 
ed   ane 

e  white- 
ordship 
as  they 
t>ecause 
Decause 
uld  see 
r  house 
ily  had 
nember 


THE    MOURNING   OF   THE   GLEN    319 

MacLure.  When  Bell  Baxter  saw  Saunders  alive, 
and  the  coffin  of  the  doctor  that  saved  him  on 
her  man's  shoulder,  she  bowed  her  head  on  the 
dyke,  and  the  bairns  in  the  village  made  such  a 
wail  for  him  they  loved  that  the  men  nearly  dis- 
graced themselves. 

"  A'm  glcd  we're  through  that,  at  ony  rate," 
said  Hillocks;  "he  wes  awfu'  taen  up  wi'  the 
bairns,  conseederin'  he  hed  nane  o'  his  ain." 

There  was  only  one  drift  on  the  road  between 
his  cottage  and  the  kirkyard,  and  it  had  been  cut 
early  that  morning. 

Before  daybreak  Saunders  had  roused  the  lads 
in  the  bothy,  and  they  had  set  to  work  by  the 
light  of  lanterns  with  such  good  will  that,  when 
Drumsheugh  came  down  to  engineer  a  circuit  for 
the  funeral,  there  was  a  fair  passage,  with  walls 
of  snow  twelve  feet  high  on  either  side. 

"  Man,  Saunders,"  he  said,  "  this  wes  a  kind 
thocht,  and  rael  weel  dune." 

But  Saunders'  only  reply  was  this : 
"  Mony  a  time  he's  hed  tae  gang  roond ;  he 
micht   as   weel   hae   an   open    road    for  his  last 
traivel." 

When  the  coffin  was  laid  down  at  the  mouth 


i ' 


■•'■I 


320  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

of  the  grave,  the  only  blackness  in  the  white 
kirkvard.  Tammas  Mitchell  did  the  most  bcauti- 
ful  thing  in  all  his  life.  He  knelt  down  and  care- 
fully wiped  off  the  snow  the  wind  had  blown 
upon  the  coflfin,  and  which  had  covered  the  name, 
and  when  he  had  done  this  he  disappeared  be- 
hind the  others,  so  that  Drumsheugh  could  hardly 
find  him  to  take  a  cord.  For  these  were  the 
eight  that  buried  Dr.  MacLure — Lord  Kilspindie 
at  the  head  as  landlord  and  Drumsheugh  at  the 
feet  as  his  friend  ;  the  two  ministers  of  the  parish 
came  first  on  the  right  and  left ;  then  Burnbrae 
and  Hillocks  of  the  farmers,  and  Saunders  and 
Tammas  for  the  plowmen.  So  the  Glen  he  loved 
laid  him  to  rest. 

When  the  bedrel  had  finished  his  work  and  the 
turf  had  been  spread.  Lord  Kilspindie  spoke : 

"  Friends  of  Drumtochty,  it  would  not  be  right 
that  we  should  part  in  silence  and  no  man  say 
what  is  in  every  heart.  We  have  buried  the  re- 
mains of  one  that  served  this  Glen  with  a  devo- 
tion that  has  known  no  reserve,  and  a  kindliness 
that  never  failed,  for  more  than  forty  years.  I 
have  seen  many  brave  men  in  my  day,  but  no 
man  in  the  trenches  of  Sebastopol  carried  him- 


i 


■  Mil  I  rniiYBauamxr^i  xv- 1 


THE   MOURNING   OF   THE   GLEN    321 

self  more  knightly  than  William  MacLure.  You 
will  never  have  heard  irom  his  lips  what  I  may 
tell  you  to-day,  that  my  father  secured  for  him  a 
valuable  post  in  his  younger  days,  and  he  pre- 
ferred to  work  among  his  own  people  ;  and  I 
wished  to  do  many  things  for  him  when  he  was 
old,  but  he  would  have  nothing  for  himself.  He 
will  never  be  forgotten  while  one  of  us  lives,  and 
I  pray  that  all  doctors  everywhere  may  share  his 
spirit.  If  it  be  your  pleasure,  I  shall  erect  across 
above  his  grave,  and  shall  ask  my  old  friend  and 
companion  Dr.  Davidson,  your  minister,  to  choose 
the  text  to  be  inscribed." 

"We  thank  you.  Lord  Kilspindie,"  said  the 
doctor,  "  for  your  presence  with  us  in  our  sorrow 
and  your  tribute  to  the  memory  of  William  Mac- 
Lure,  and  I  choose  this  for  his  text : 

"  *  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a 
man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends.'  " 

Milton  was,  at  that  time,  held  in  the  bonds  of 
a  very  bitter  theology,  and  his  indignation  was 
stirred  by  this  unqualified  eulogium. 

*'  No  doubt  Dr.  MacLure  hed  mony  natural 
virtues,  an'  he  did  his  wark  weel,  but  it  wes  a 
peety  he  didna  mak  mair  profession  o'  releegion." 


I.  r 


I  ' 


^'! 


322  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

"  When  William  MacLure  appears  before  tl^c 
Judge,  Milton,"  said  Lachlan  Campbell,  who 
that  day  spoke  his  last  words  in  public,  and  they 
were  in  defence  of  charity,  "  He  will  not  be  ask- 
ing him  about  his  professions,  for  the  doctor's 
judgment  hass  been  ready  long  ago;  and  it  iss  a 
good  judgment,  and  you  and  I  will  be  happy  men 
if  we  get  the  like  of  it. 

"  It  iss  written  in  the  Gospel,  but  it  iss  William 
MacLure  that  will  not  be  expecting  it." 

**  What  is't,  Lachlan  ?"  asked  Jamie  Soutar, 
eagerly. 

The  old  man,  now  very  feeble,  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  and  his  face,  once  so  hard, 
was  softened  into  a  winsome  tenderness. 

"  '  Come,  ye  blessed  of  My  Father  ...  I  was 
sick,  and  ye  visited  Me.*  " 


msmwrnmrn^'^^^ 


